


A Voice In The Dark

by jeffcatson



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, Zombies Run!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Feelings, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2027229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffcatson/pseuds/jeffcatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the zombie apocalypse, Carlos was a scientist. Now, between the ravenous hordes that defy all scientific explanation, the vast abandoned cities, and the loss of his old communities, he's not quite sure where he fits in. Arriving alone in a strange desert town, where the locals are alternately welcoming and hostile, and where he's sure that his radio operator is crushing hard on him, Carlos starts to think he may have found some way in which he can be useful: he runs. </p><p>A Night Vale / Zombies Run AU, because both stories begin with a newcomer in town, and are narrated by a guiding voice on the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Carlos had said that he wanted more time in the field, he hadn't counted on this. 

 

The helicopter gives a sickening lurch sideways - the pilot is still speaking fast and clear into her headset, _maydaymayday, our tail rotor's gone, two souls on board_ \- it's all he can do to hold on to his seat and try not to throw up, and then the ground's rushing fast towards their windshield and the radio's cut out, she's bundling him out of his seat and out of the door, _wait wait he hasn't trained for this, all he can see is the ground_ \- he yanks on the cord, and tangles up immediately in the trees. There's no sign of his pilot: Carlos unclips from the chute, shaking, and lands heavily on a grassy bank. 

 

He sits up, shaking off the dizziness, and then realises that the radio headset he'd been wearing is still speaking: it's the voice of the operator that had been guiding in the helicopter. He finds the volume control on the side of the headset, and listens. 

 

"... -copter, supply copter, can you hear us? This is the Night Vale comms tower calling - look, Dana, they can't hear us, they must have fried the equipment in the crash - " 

 

Something unintelligible; a hiss of static. 

 

"Okay, listen, um, look: this is Night Vale calling, this is, eh, Cecil Palmer from the Night Vale comms tower, and - look, I'm just the radio operator, I'm not meant to handle this kind of thing - if anyone's alive, you've come down in a nest of hostiles. There's... thirty. No, forty. There's forty hostiles approaching fast and you've got a safe path to that tower: if there's anyone alive there, you've got to run. Run!" 

 

* 

 

Carlos wasn’t prepared for this. He's a scientist - or, well, he was. Before the plague, he was a scientist: he worked as an astrophysicist in a gleaming lab, analysed data and taught sometimes, drank a lot of coffee. It wasn't bad, really: he remembers feeling bored, and sometimes frustrated: the slow pace of the work, the time it took the academy to approve basic funding requests. When the infection had spread, and the labs, and then the cities, were closed down; when the ragged survivors drove and then walked out to find what shelter they could; then, he'd remembered how feeling bored was the worst of his troubles. 

 

He's made himself useful: in a couple of small settlements, and then the military base. He'd worked on making their generators more efficient, or their kitchens run more smoothly, and in the base, his supervisors had him locked down in the lab. They were stil holding out hope for a cure: they had two dozen scientists there with the last of their equipment, disciplines ranging from volcanology to psychology, all quickly retrained in disease control and doing what they could. Increasingly, they'd felt useless: the power the labs drained, the resources they ate up on empty hope. Eventually, the lot of them had asked for relocation: couldn't bear to keep working while the others went hungry. Carlos was among the last to be relocated: he'd be briefed when he landed in Night Vale, they'd said. 

 

*

 

Carlos runs, and the voices go in and out of static - "they can hear me! They heard - look, they're moving towards the tower now, just look at them go!" The radio operator is joined by a new voice: female, slower-speaking, more precise. "Cecil, I think we have two - no, three - three sprinters out towards the east. We can ask the runner to twist around by the southernmost side of the hospital. Hopefully they can lose them there - "

 

Carlos is already changing direction: he's never seen a sprinter in reality, but the pale looks of the radio operators back at Mullins, every time a scout had been lost to one, have told him enough. This wasn't something he wanted to encounter. 

 

His legs are aching, his heart's pounding: it's not that he's unused to running, it's just that he doesn't usually run this fast, or this far, or, well, zombies. He pauses, wondering whether he should risk taking a short cut through the hospital. 

 

As if on cue, Cecil's speaking again. "They haven't yet seen you, if you can still hear me - yeah? Maybe? - you should be fine to just come around and - oh! Major: an unexpected - "

 

There's a new voice now, brisk and commanding. "Palmer here tells me you're coming towards Night Vale from a helicopter crash: is that right? You're very welcome here, of course, but we have to tell you: we run an efficient township here, with everyone doing their part and working together. Look, whoever you are. Runner Eight has informed us she's heard about some unusual documents from one of the runners in a township further along Route 800. I'm sorry to ask you this, so soon after the crash, but: if you're able to take a short cut through the hospital, see if you can't get into Office 32 and pick up their last reports from the CDC. We think there's something important there. And - runner? As we said: everyone here in Night Vale pitches in, and pulls their weight. It works. I'm sorry to have to say this, but if you're not able to find those files, we may not be able to let you in." 

 

Well. It's not as though the policy's a surprise - many of the little isolated towns had adopted efficiency after learning that sentimentality could be fatal - it's just that... he'd thought they were expecting him. The way the Major was speaking, it sounded as though they thought he was just some traveller helicoptering through the wilderness. 

 

Carlos hears the muffled sounds of Dana speaking with the Major, and a door closing, and then Cecil's back again, speaking in conversational tone. "Okay: can't see you any more, now - you're out of range for the remote mic pickup as well, even if you had one. Well, for all I know, you may already be being eaten by the zombs... I hope not, of course."

 

He tails off, and Carlos, making his way cautiously through unlit corridors, poking his head into the offices that line the space, hopes he comes back soon. He is so very alone out here. That voice had at least given the illusion that he had company. 

 

There! Office 32, and there's a filing cabinet, still upright, wedged behind a desk. One drawer's open, and he can see the distinctive bright yellow, used for all CDC correspondence, clear in the gloom. Carlos takes a deep breath, hefts a length of pipe he'd found outside, and steps in: scans the room, and finding it empty, goes straight for the cabinet. It's packed with yellow files: he has no idea what he's looking for, so he stuffs the whole lot into his backpack, hoping that at least one will be enough to buy him entry. 

 

A door clicks behind him, and he turns, raising the pipe - no, it was his earpiece, and now there's Dana's voice. "How's that runner doing?" 

 

"Hello - they're doing really well! The Major sent them to cut through the hospital - do you think they can still hear us? Um: keep going, you can make it! File or not, they'll have to let you in, they wouldn't mow you down at the gates or anything like that - would they?" 

 

"Look!", Dana says, excited. "I can see them: they've made it out of the hospital, they've just come past those trees! Look, they're going at such a strong pace - oh, Cecil, do you think...?"

 

"Hmm? Oh, them? Well, there's an idea... we'd have to let them in then, right?" 

 

"Keep going!", Dana says. "Listen: just for now, we're going to call you Runner Five. We have runners, you see, here in Night Vale: they find us supplies and information and anything else we need, and the number system makes things easier for the operators. I'm just in radio training myself. We'll call you Runner Five, because the old Runner Five, well - "

 

And here, for the first time, Carlos hears Dana's voice, so sure and precise, falter. 

 

"The old Runner Five. Well, just last week, she went out to the motorway, and, well. There's no sign of her back yet. It's been - six days, and just over four hours, since we lost radio contact. But - ", and here, she sounds as though she's shaking herself a little, putting on a cheery, encouraging air - "you can be our new Runner Five! If... if you can get here, that is. It's another two miles to the north-east, then down the hill: you should be able to see our main communications tower from where you are, now. There's a big group behind you, but they're all shamblers, so you can outrun them easily. One moment, there's something else on the radar - okay, Five, there's another smaller group coming in from the west. They're faster, but they're not sprinters. They're moving to cut you off to the town, but if you move fast, you'll be able to beat them here. Just: yes, that's great, keep going!" 

 

* 

 

The bag's weighing heavy on his back, and his hair is falling into a mess all over his eyes, when Carlos clears the hill and gets his first good look at Night Vale. It's small: there's a group of ramshackle buildings, crowded around a farmhouse from before the infection. There's a communications tower at the north-east corner, from which he presumes Cecil and Dana are transmitting, and there are large roll-down gates in the wall facing him, with a smaller, ordinary door beside them. A guard tower stands over the gates, with mounted guns aiming downwards. He waves to the tower, hoping they'll be friendly, and sets off down the hill. 

 

He can see the smaller crowd that Dana had mentioned: the zombs seem to have caught his scent, as they're already moving with purpose towards him. 

 

Carlos groans in frustration: to reach the town gates, he'll have to go _towards_ the oncoming zombs, and race them there. There's no guarantee the Major will let him in. As friendly as Cecil and Dana had sounded, they were asking him to run towards the zombs based on little more than trust and hope. 

 

He could go the other way. He's guaranteed to escape: he could climb a tree or something, find a barn with a loft, wait for them to wander off, and - oh, for goodness' sake. After all this, they had better let him in. Carlos huffs out a sigh and sprints down the hill, hoping that Night Vale's snipers are as accurate as those back home. 

 

"Oh my God", Dana says, suddenly. "Oh - oh no. Look: there, it's her. The old Runner Five. You see? Right at the head of them. Oh, Stacey..." 

 

"Dana, I'm so sorry", Cecil says, and then to Carlos, "that's good, keep going! You're almost there!" 

 

"Stacey, I thought - she was so resourceful - I mean, it's not even as though we ever - " 

 

Dana's voice is drowned out by a sudden burst of gunfire right above Carlos' head, and he trips and rolls into a ditch by the gate - he hadn't seen that, why hadn't they warned him? Maybe they had, he can't quite hear their words anymore - there's suddenly an unmistakeable moan coming from _right behind him_ , it's cut off by a single gunshot, and then the gates - the gates, they're rising! He can see sky on the other side, coming in through the tall, imposing mix of concrete and brickwork and glass bottles that make up the main wall - and, gasping, he pulls himself up out of the ditch and through the gates. 

 

There's cheering in his earpiece, and they're saying something else, but Carlos takes off the headset, suddenly exhausted, and falls to his knees in the dirt. People are running to him from the nearby buildings, crowding around and all speaking at once - 

 

"We saw the helicopter go down on the comms, are you all right?"

 

"-have to call the Major, she said she needs to know about all potential newcomers -"

 

"came in from the army base? Didn't even realise they were sending someone - "

 

\- and behind the cacophony, there are two familiar voices, two people running towards the crowd from the comms tower - 

 

"Give him space! Go on, out the way, give our new Runner Five some space and a welcome, he's just come in through the hospital and everything - ", and that's Cecil speaking. Carlos looks up, and sees a man with a worried expression, long black hair and with his frayed shirtsleeves pushed up, revealing colourful tattoos. His companion is slightly shorter: she's got dark, red-rimmed eyes and medium brown skin, with natural, short-cropped hair and wearing a knitted sweater. 

 

They're not sent out much, Carlos realises: they're cleaner, a little more well-groomed, than the others. Most of the crowd is scruffy: they match the town, rough around the edges, still in the stages of being built in many places. Carlos thinks back to the lab in the base he'd shared with the other scientists: it had been rough, as well - they'd made do, but it was clean and reasonably well-stocked - and, with no way back for the foreseeable future, he wonders just what he has gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Give him space, give him space - that's our new Runner Five you're smothering, go on - " - it's Cecil's voice carrying clear and deep through the crowd, and Carlos leans back on his heels, still breathing heavily, exhausted from his run, and looks up. 

 

"I need to see whoever's in charge. It's the Major, you said, is that right?", Carlos says, addressing Cecil, as everyone else seems to be looking to him. Dana lets out a sniff, wipes her eyes and squares her shoulders. 

 

"Of course", Cecil says, coming to help him up. "Can you walk? We can - "

 

"She's back at the comms tower", Dana says quickly, and, to the others, "go on, off you go: you'll be seeing enough of him soon. Anyone would think you're all starved for entertainment around here - " 

 

"Here: you can rest on me", Cecil says, fluttering a little around Carlos as they start to walk. "You must be exhaused: we'll sort you out with food as soon as we can - "

 

"Cecil", Dana says, and he goes quiet. She glares at Carlos. "Hi. Listen: I'm sorry, but we don't know who you are, or why you're here. Now, the two of us aren't necessarily going to ask you lots of questions - I know there are plenty here already who would prefer privacy - but do bear in mind, it won't be long before people begin to wonder. If I were you, I'd have a think about my answers soon." 

 

"What?", Carlos says. "But - the town should have been expecting me, didn't the base ring ahead to let you know I was coming? They said I'd be briefed here - "

 

"All the external communications go through us, and there was definitely nothing about a helicopter coming in today. Are you sure it was here they were planning to send you?" 

 

"Yes, of course - how could they have not - " 

 

"Well, as I said: best work out your story. Come on, it's this way - " 

 

They're not going to the communications tower. Instead, they're skirting around the farmhouse edges, to the back, where there's a cluster of equipment sheds and corrugated-iron shelters, all shored up with sandbags. Dana leads them to the largest one, and knocks briskly on the door. 

 

A well-scrubbed older woman opens it up, looking harried. "Oh", she says, looking at Carlos. "Well. Come on then - not you, Palmer, I need you and Cardinal to send out a broadcast as soon as you can. Here - ", she strides to a table, rifles through some papers to find a sheet, and hands it over. Dana glances at it. "What?", she says. "We can't tell them it's reduced rations again this week: it's only been two days since we cut them - "

 

"Spin it as you like, Cardinal: it needs saying", says the now-familiar voice of Major Winchell. She's striding over to the desk: she's a tall woman, with close-cropped dark hair, and olive skin a few shades lighter than that of her assistant. "If you want, you can tell them Eight is going out tomorrow to see if there's anything left where Route 800 dips into the canyon. Haven't told her yet, but we'll see if we can sort out his itinerary tonight. Or put it in the evening show: either way. Cardinal: we're counting on the team at NVCR to keep morale up, even when it's difficult. Can we count on you?" 

 

Dana opens her mouth to protest, but Winchell cuts her off immediately. "Cecil. Dana. Can I count on you?"

 

"Yes, Major. Of course", Cecil says quickly, before Dana can argue. "Look, um, Five - we'll catch up with you later, all right?" 

 

Carlos just nods, more worried by the minute. "Right", the Major says. "Come on in then, let's see if we can't work out just what's going on here. Thank you, Trish - ", and the older woman closes the door and comes back to join them, in the mismatched chairs by the desk. 

 

Carlos sits, nervous, and looks around. There's a map of the town on one wall, beside a map of the surrounding area. The desk has a few dusty dark green rocks scattered at one end - no, not scattered: they seem to be arranged in a circle. Odd. The rest is covered in papers: the topmost appearing to show some kind of inventory. That'll be the food list. He can understand why the Major is stressed: he knows, at least in the abstract, that food shortages over the last few months had killed at least as many people as direct zombie attacks. They'd wanted for nothing back at Mullins, of course - and, not for the first time, Carlos feels a rush of apprehension. 

 

"No-one told us you were coming", the Major says, leaning back on one of the chairs opposite and accepting a canteen of water from her assistant. She counts off her points with a flick of one hand. "It's not often we see people being flown over anywhere by chopper these days. No records of any contact with Mullins in the last three months. No help from them, either - not that we'd expect it, we're quite self-sufficient here, small community that we are, but you can understand, Mr - " 

 

"Doctor", says Carlos, more sharply than he'd intended. "Dr. Mendoza." 

 

"You understand, Dr. Mendoza, our position. All this begs the question: just what - exactly - are you doing here?" 

 

After a long, stupid pause, Carlos comes out with, "... they said I'd be briefed on landing?"

 

There's answering silence, so he continues: "I was based in the research department, we were studying the epidemiology of the outbreaks as applied to the large population centres on the west coat, but the informational yield was dreadful, oh, you should have seen it - so, most of my team asked to be reassigned. Two went to Desert Bluffs out south, and I was sent here - " 

 

Trish, who had been rifling through Carlos' backpack, let out a sound of surprise at the mention of the neighbouring town. "No-one told you?", she says, but the Major shoots her a brief glare, and speaks again before Carlos can ask. 

 

"Palmer said you were a good runner", the Major says. "Stay, for tonight - Trish can find you a bunk - and we'll talk more in the morning. We'll see if you can be of any use to the Runners Program." 

 

* 

The bunkhouse is a long, low building, leaning against the base of the communications tower. There are no free bunks, but Cecil - who had been waiting outside the Major's office, pacing nervously - helps Carlos string up a hammock close to the ceiling in the radio station's corridor. He'd sent Dana ahead to do the broadcast, he explains, blushing slightly every time he catches Carlos' eyes: she's still in training, and any chances to get her running the show solo was doing wonders for her confidence. 

 

Trish hadn't returned his backpack. Carlos hadn't wanted to ask, with the Major so terse. 

 

"I'm sure it'll all be fine!", Cecil says, brightly, as he balances on a rafter, tying off a rope. "Well, not absolutely everything - that'd be ridiculous, given all that's happened - but I'm sure the Major will let you stay! We've plenty of space in the Runners Program, there's always a need for more people, given that the Runners keep... being lost. Well, anyway, they always find more people useful! And, we're a small community here, a little set in our ways, but we're friendly. We won't just throw newcomers out, whatever the Major says. Now, I'm sure you'll be wanting some sleep - Dana will be around in the morning to introduce you to our head of Runners, if I'm indisposed. But I'm sure I'll see you then! Sleep well, lovely Carlos - oh, and do let us know if you need anything: anything at all!", he says, heading outside. 

 

* 

"The Runners are the lifeblood of Night Vale's beating heart", explains the head of the Runners Program. Steve Carlsberg is a tall, wiry man, with several days' growth of beard and a heavy Southwestern accent. "Without a steady supply of fuel, we are the primary means of gathering the vital supplies our community needs to keep on functioning. We're always in need of more bodies to help, and I've been told you're a potential for the team. Now, I'll level with you: it's a dangerous job, and hard work. It's where the Major sends folks that she don't know what else to do with, and it's where any folks to ain't pulling their weight can come to make up their hours. Our Tamika's only thirteen and she's been running double shifts to support her father and sister - and my Ruth's always staying out late in the field with her, doesn't know what else to do with herself. Tamika's going to take you out for a quick run, now - nothing too dangerous, just to get out to the tree line and back. See how you go." 

 

Carlos is almost as intimidated by Tamika as he had been of the Major. She's a short, stocky teenager, with natural hair scraped into a tight bun and dark eyes fixing him with a no-nonsense glare. A few minutes later, and he's grateful for the distraction: Cecil's in his headset, calling "raise the gates!" and it's all Carlos can do to not panic at the sight of all the unguarded open space. Couple of sprinters in that, and he'd be a dead man right away. 

 

"Come on, then", Tamika calls, making her way around the trench in front of the gate, and Carlos struggles, briefly, between fear of the open space and embarrassment at showing a thirteen-year-old he's scared. The embarrassment wins out, and he follows at a run. 

 

*

The zombies that the guard towers had mown down yesterday are out there. They stink, and the ground is wet and sticky, and it's lumpy. Running here is nothing like the steady, pounding rhythm of doing laps at Mullins, and for the first ten minutes, Carlos is quiet, concentrating too much on avoiding the bumps and holes in the earth to speak. 

 

He wasn't prepared for this. What he was even thinking, leaving the comparatively comfortable military base, exchanging that for a terse welcome, a draughty hammock and this grunt work - 

 

"Were you a scientist?", Tamika asks, bluntly. 

 

"Yes", Carlos says, puffing a little. "I used to be a theoretical astrophysicist, and I taught a little at SF State as well. After all this started, they moved anyone who wanted to help out into the labs with the military, got people studying virology, epidemiology, transmission vectors - stuff we hadn't even done since college. I was on a team looking at infection patterns, but none of it seemed to help. Eventually, all of us got tired of using up resources, and asked to be reassigned."

 

He's practised this part of the story, repeating it to himself until it rolled easily. Wouldn't do to be too personal: not when lots of people are going to be asking for a quick summary. For her part, Tamika grunts in reply. 

 

They pass a few more minutes in companionable silence, jogging gently around the tree-line, keeping the town on their left. 

 

"Did Steve tell you about the Runners Program?", Tamika asks.

 

"Yeah", he says, panting now that they're approaching an incline. "Said the runners - get the supplies - right?" 

 

"That's right", she says, "anything the base needs, and plenty it doesn't, too, but that folks might find fun or interesting. And we look anywhere we can. Been combing the countryside for months, now, and we're doing some longer missions too, see what's further. Should last a good while, but some's worried we might have to move, eventually, if we don't get more supplies easily. They'll run out in the end, and we're not like your big military base, with space for loads of farms and everything." 

 

"Did I see some farms by the tower yesterday? Will they be up and running in time?" 

 

"We're hoping. It's one reason the Major's so careful about new mouths to feed: gotta make sure folks are worth it, you know? So: you think you want to run, right?" 

 

"I want to be useful?", Carlos says. "And it sounds like Mullins won't plan on sending a chopper or anything again anytime soon. Not that there's much to go back to there anyway - never did develop many more practical skills, not like some folks I knew in SF who could build a whole city up out of the earth, easy as anything. Had a neighbour who kept a fully stocked RV: first sign of any trouble, and she was off up into the woods." 

 

"Oh, for god's sake", Tamika mutters suddenly, "no, not you", and she reaches up to adjust something at her ear. "This guy won't stop going on about you, keeps telling me to ask all these questions - " 

 

"Uh", Carlos says. She carries on as though she hadn't heard. "Dana said she thought he had a thing for you this morning, didn't think it'd be this bad. It's okay", she says, quickly, seeing the look on Carlos' face, "he can't hear us from out here. They can talk to us up to five miles out, but we can only talk back up to a mile out, and we just passed the mile marker on that tree, see?" 

 

Carlos hadn't been concerned about Cecil overhearing. Oh, he wasn't prepared for this, either - not this soon, not from someone who - he thinks fast, casting around for a new topic. 

 

"Did the Major say that they also did a radio show?" He doesn't think Tamika noticed his voice shaking. "She... she said that, uh, he and Dana were the radio operators for the Runners, but they also... did a show?" 

 

Tamika, bless her, doesn't push. "Nah: that's Lucy and Hannah. Usually Hannah's out running or she's on build, and Lucy's in the kitchen, or sewing, but every night they do a radio show. It's about an hour, right after sundown: there's no sense sending Runners out into the dark, so the whole base can listen in while they're doing chores or resting. Steve found an old iPod in a car a few weeks back, managed to get it working again: they've been playing songs off it ever since, too. They just mess about, mostly: don't think either of them knows the first thing they're doing, but folks are used to them by now. Think most of them look forward to having a familiar voice around, and some routine." 

 

They're looping back around towards the base now, going downhill slightly, close to the trees. "Here", Tamika says, "give the headset a try, you'll want to know how to use that. It's straightforward, it's mostly just them talking." She pauses for a moment to adjust it to his head, and then they take off again: immediately, Carlos hears Cecil's voice in his ear. 

 

"Oh! Hello, Carlos - I can see you both on camera eight-alpha, is Tamika showing you how things work?" 

 

"We can't talk back yet", Tamika adds, "though you don't have to talk to them at all, they don't mind if you're concentrating." 

 

"You're all looking clear: what I've got here, Carlos - do you mind if I call you Carlos? - what I've got here is a series of feeds from a whole lot of the cameras we've placed outside in the trees. They're not ideal: the cameras get motion-activated by big things, otherwise they just shoot an image every thirty seconds. Even better though: we're up in the tower and we've a long-range camera up even higher than that, so we can follow your progress and let you know if there are any problems. I mean, I'm sure it's not as high-tech as what you're used to back in the lab at the base - " 

 

Carlos has a go at pressing the "talk" button he'd seen Tamika use earlier. "It sounds great, Cecil. Thank you for looking out for us." 

 

There's an incoherent squeak at the end of the line, and then Cecil's back, voice a little higher than before. "Of course! Lovely, generous Carlos: do come back safe, all right?" 

 

"All right." And, to Tamika: "straight back again?" 

 

She's smirking a little. "Sure. Right on back." 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Carlos is dreaming. He knows this because the lab at Mullins doesn't usually look like something out of a Hammer Horror film. There's green goop running down the walls, and none of the clocks are working - but most distressingly, the numbers on the instruments in front of him are flashing randomly, showing results that can't possibly be real, whichever way they're interpreted. 

 

He's tapping away at a calculator, noting down figures in pencil and they're changing, going faster than he can follow and his knowledge is not enough, the green goop is now at his ankles and somewhere he knows there'll be zombies thumping on the windows of unshielded homes and none of these figures and charts can help, none of this is enough - 

 

*

 

Carlos wakes up, swinging side to side in the hammock that he and Cecil had tied in the hallway of the radio shack a week previously. He checks his watch - one of the styles that charges from body movement, thank goodness, an interesting novelty when he'd bought it and now it's essential and mercifully still unbroken - and flops back down, still breathing hard. 

 

It had only been him in the lab. Him, and the rising goop, and those awful, utterly broken clocks - but it had only been him. That was new. 

 

He'd been useless in the labs. He reminds himself of this often, now - but what he hadn't considered, naively, short-sightedly, was how useless he would feel here, too. As though he could go out to some little settlement and immediately save them with - what? The power of trigonometry? Good spectroscopy interpretation technique? Six months kept away from a nation rebuilding, people everywhere learning the practical skills necessary to build fences, fix bikes, forage for food - they'd all left him far behind. He wasn't any use here, not really - he was an extra pair of running legs, at most. Someone else to bring in supplies, for the higher-ups, the more knowledgeable people, to allocate. This was all he could do. 

 

Cecil had helped him ring Mullins twice, now: he'd have lent him the communications equipment every evening, had Dana allowed it. All Carlos' requests for more information - a mission statement, helicopter scouting times, the likelihood of his being pulled out, anything - had been dismissed or ignored. Anyone who knew about the scientists' reallocation had been called north for a CDC summit. Sit tight, and they'd call if the situation changed, they'd said. 

 

Carlos sighs, and swings out of the hammock. He's aching from running every day, and having fallen out of the thing for the first few. He stretches, wondering if he'll be able to beg a coffee from Lucy Gutierrez again: she'd been especially kind to himself and Ruth after they'd found six brand-new sports bras in various uncommon sizes, half-buried under a crate two days previously. 

 

* 

 

Ready to go out?", Tamika grins, not unkindly. "Can't go 'round with your hand held by us all the time, we got things to do here. Hey: you'll be fine. Steve even sent me to do the briefing so he could train up a couple new folks who wanted to get involved. That's how fine you'll be." She pours him half the coffee remaining in her own mug, seeing that his is finished, and he smiles back at her.

 

"Here's us", Tamika says, pointing to a map on the wall. "That's where the main gate comes out, towards the south: you can see the band of trees there, and the abandoned farm we went to the other day off towards the east. Today, you're going the other way." She points north, where a freeway makes its way between tall rocks and alongside a dried-out stream. "Most of the cars along that way were looted months on back, but we were always interested in an ambulance that crashed at the underpass, here." 

 

Carlos glances back towards the base on the map: it'll be three, three-and-a-half miles each way. Not too bad: they'd done the same distance to the farm. “Don't know if you know, Mr. Scientist, but all the ambulance frames got reinforced as soon as the hospitals got wind of a weird-looking outbreak going around. No way our bashing or prying or even our axes were getting in there. But: yesterday, Runner Ten brought in these", and she shows him a set of oddly shaped keys - oh, they're universal keys - "we think they might open at least the driver's door, if not the back. From there, you can get into the back: that'll be reinforced glass, not steel, 'cause they wanted to keep an eye on the passengers in case there was any trouble, see? Axes won't get us into the van, but they might get you in back. Then, we're looking for anything you can carry, first off: gotta assume that once they know it's open, the runners from Desert Bluffs will be there to clear it out. Medicines first, and any supplies you can get second. We're low on insulin, and Hannah on Build's got food allergies: could do with some more adrenaline pens for her, in case of anything." 

 

Medical supplies from an ambulance. Okay. How hard could that be? "... Wait. If the whole thing's reinforced, and you couldn't get in the driver's door - "

 

"Yeah, yeah: there’s zoms there. Driver and probably in the back, too. We think they'd have rotted down to nothing by now: been trapped in there six months, after all. In any case, they'll be strapped in, and you've got an axe, right? Listen: you'll be okay. Remember you fought off those crawlers when they got Ruth's ankles? You'll do great. We'll give you a gun, too, but you know not to use it - yeah, course you know." 

 

Even if he hadn't just lived through a zombie apocalypse, Carlos has seen enough old movies to know not to use a gun in an exposed space unless he wanted a whole horde to flock to the noise immediately. He also knew enough to save the last bullets for himself and his team. Come to think of it, a lot of those old movies were really more morbid than cheesy - 

 

"Okay. Ready? Shoes tied? You got water? Here, let me check your headset - okay. We'll be right here watching. Raise the gates!" 

 

* 

 

Carlos has always lived in towns and cities. He is glad to have not seen a city since the infection had started to spread. Here, and around Mullins, the weeds and wildflowers had grown up and around the monoculture crops, the hay bales, and the endless, sprawling networks of fences. Without workers or fuel to take in the harvest, most of it had ripened and spoiled, save for the corners nearest the farmhouse. 

 

For years, he had loved to read dystopian science fiction: to be chilled by the sight of overgrown monuments and rolling trains in online artwork, to see familiar SF and Boston landmarks crumbling. None of the art had featured rotting farmland.  Now, the ruined cities are a fantastical, romanticised image he hopes to keep in his mind: he has no desire to return to the towns and see the reality. 

 

"Carlos~!", Cecil says excitedly in his ear. "I'll be guiding you this morning, and making sure you're as safe as can be. Are you feeling all right? I hope you're feeling all right."

 

Carlos smiles, and, without breaking stride, waves back towards the tower. He's rewarded with a giggle. "Hello! I'm waving back. You're going to be great. Ruth said you were brilliant the other day, when she got caught. Now, you're going to be moving alongside those trees off towards your left: you see? Down, following that line, and that'll intersect with the freeway and you can run the rest of the way along that, nice and easy. Two more miles to the underpass, and you're there! I'd recommend having your axe to hand, though, dear Carlos. It won't be as easy to warn you of incoming dangers, what with the bridge blocking my reception." 

 

 _thump, thump, thump_ go Carlos' strides, and he rests one palm on the head of the axe tucked through his belt. It'll be fine. 

 

"I heard you and Ruth found extra clothes out at that barn: Lucy Gutierrez was so pleased you brought back plus-size bras, did you know that?", Cecil says conversationally in Carlos' ear. "She's been trying to sew up a bunch for ages, there's quite a few Runners who can't do as well as they'd like otherwise, it's so frustrating, oh, and she was delighted, I can't even tell you. Did you know that Lucy and her wife are experimenting with making new kinds of desserts? That's all in their off-time, of course - can't imagine how they fit it all in what with doing the radio show as well. Usually Hannah's on build, and Lucy's been sewing clothes, mending things, knitting with scraps, that sort of thing."

 

He tails off, thoughtful, and Carlos wonders if she'd teach him to knit. 

 

"You know", Cecil says, light and gossipy, "some folks here were a little skeptical when she showed up with her wheelchair? She'd only driven in towns before and they thought she'd be no good on rough ground, but Hannah stood up, said they came as a package, and now, I could swear Lucy puts in twice the hours of anyone on build or out running. You know she's been teaching the little ones to sew, too? Some are knitting, with old curtains and what-have-you, they made me the most beautiful purple scarf - well, anyway, the two of them used to run an ice-cream shop, did you know that? Hand-made, all organic and sustainably farmed - can't use cow's milk nowadays, of course, but they've been looking at the coconut cream in storage, boiling up rice - whatever they can. Just trying to give everyone something nice, you know, make things feel a little more normal." 

 

Carlos hadn't known that, but isn't surprised: he feels a rush of affection towards the kind, homely woman who had shared her coffee stores and showed him where the snacking supplies in the kitchen lived. He hopes the Major hadn't given her too much of a hard time. 

 

"You know, that's what I really like about this place", Cecil continues. "Most of us didn't know each other before, or even know much about survival, or self-sufficiency, but we’ve all pulled together and made this friendly little community. Everyone working together and looking out for each other, and we've some really kind people here." 

 

Carlos leaps over the trench bordering the freeway and lands with a light thump. No zombs in sight, so he takes a minute to sit down and breathe and check his shoelaces, before jogging onwards, keeping to the clear edges where he can, relishing the smooth asphalt. 

 

*

 

Say what you like about the broken, uneven ground of the land around the farm: the lumpy earth, the scattered holes threatening broken ankles with every step - they, at least, take concentration. Here, the freeway - unbroken, still, save for the occasional crack where wildflowers are sprouting upwards - it's an easy thing to lope along, and it allows the mind to wander. 

 

It'll be overgrown, to match the kind of artwork Carlos had liked, in a few decades' time. There'll be huge cracks in the concrete, rotting cars spilling every which way into the ditches, birds nesting in the seats, nature taking back the land. Now, it looks ordinary enough to fool Carlos: for a moment, it's as though the apocalypse had never started. The cars have simply wiped out on the road. Their owners have left to look at something over the hill, all of them together. They'll be back soon. 

 

It is very, very quiet. 

 

 _thump, thump, thump_ go Carlos' shoes. 

 

He hopes that this is a pace he can keep up. He hopes he never trips, or a blister doesn't suddenly burst. That he's able to run fast enough, and for long enough, to get back if needed -

 

He is a very long way from the town. He is all alone, save for a voice in his head. 

 

Quite suddenly, Carlos reaches up to catch the headset, feel it solid on his ear. He twists the volume dial, calls up Cecil's appearance in his mind. He remembers. 

 

Cecil, bless him, chooses that moment to speak again. "All looks normal from here", he murmurs. "I won't be able to see you in the underpass, but you're clear until them. Be careful, in any case, all right?" 

 

Carlos nods, unsure as to whether Cecil and see him, and deciding it doesn't matter. He goes on. 

 

Thousands of people had driven out of the cities, clogged up the roads with their engines running and their cars heavy with useless supplies. They hadn't all run out of gas at the same time: individuals, friends, families, all had carried what they could out of their useless cars, and stood at the sides of the road, hoping for a lift. Many had simply walked onwards. Those who had had the foresight to strap a bike or two to the car had made it further, at least until they were mugged for it or worse. In the end, all of them had either ended up in settlements like Mullins or Night Vale, or, well, hadn't.

 

For the first couple of months, Mullins scouts had come across people who had been determined to survive on their own: holing up in lofts and basements, smashing stairs and stockpiling supplies as though they were in a movie. Eventually, they'd come to realise that none of them were the protagonist in this particular action flick. They'd come to Mullins, and to Night Vale too, and to countless other little pockets of humanity: brought with them their tools and their supplies and their humility, laid them down on the communal pile. More hadn't appeared in a while. 

 

Runners had come through here to siphon what fuel remains they could from the tanks long ago. Carlos has a mission, and he isn't going to be distracted, but he does reach through a window to quickly snag a couple of books from a dashboard. Steve had said that Tamika was amassing a library: she'd like these. 

 

"That's it, right up ahead", Cecil says, soft and steady. "We've swept though already for fuel and ordinary supplies: that means you can concentrate on the ambulance. Most people here abandoned their cars, but we think the van must have crashed: it's up against a pillar on the road." 

 

Carlos takes a breath, lets it out, and goes. The keys shift in his pocket: this won't take long, he can be in and out in - 

 

There it is. It's... dirty: it looks so very wrong, for something that he's used to imagining as white and gleaming, speeding through traffic lights. It's somehow worse even than seeing smashed office buildings or dark streetlights: this is a fundamental, vital thing, and it's broken. 

 

"Careful. Be careful. Keep a watch out." It could be Cecil's voice, or his own: it's a whisper, and it's an anchor. He focuses on the sound as he finds the keys, readies the axe, locates the keyhole. 

 

Not that key. Not that one, either. "It's okay. It's okay." That's definitely his own voice, now - Cecil won't have reception down here. Get it done, get out, get back to the daylight and to Cecil's voice - 

 

There: the lock clicks. Carlos grips the axe and opens the door, and it's there, there's a zombie right there - 

 

\- it's not moving. Too rotten, perhaps: there are deep gouges in every visible limb, and barely any face remaining. He looks over at the passenger seat, trying and failing not to jump: its companion is the same. They're not moving. Slowly, he registers the smell: sour, pervasive. They must have been here since the van crashed six months previously, died and reanimated and chewed themselves to the bone all while strapped into these seats. 

 

Well. Might as well be sure. Carlos carefully, precisely, smashes in both their heads witb the blunt side of his axe, and face set, eases the one from the driver's seat out onto the road. _Ugh_.

 

He climbs in, trying not to look too closely at the mess in the other seat, and looks through the reinforced glass to the back. Two more shadowy, misshapen figures; a few open cupboards, and bottles all over the floor. Carlos closes the door quietly, and checks the glove compartment first: there's a small first-aid kit, and a protein bar - the things last for years, he could swear there's nothing organic in there - he shrugs and stuffs both into his backpack. 

 

The corner, Tamika had advised. Double checking the closed door and bracing himself for the noise, Carlos swings the axe into the glass. 

 

It cracks. Two more swings, wincing, and the glass shatters inwards. Heart pounding now, pent-up adrenaline flooding his body, Carlos scrambles into the back. 

 

Quickly, now: the sooner he can be done here, the sooner he can get out back to the daylight and the air and away from this smell - 

 

The corpses in the back aren't moving either. He smashed their skulls as well, and tries to wipe off the axe on the stretcher. Lays it down to use both hands, now - there are pill bottles and vials scattered all over the floor, and he gathers everything methodically, not bothering to read the labels. He reaches under the stretcher at some more shapes - ugh, that one's a _hand_ , but unmoving - and, more bottles. Morphine, these, and he feels a spark of hope, all of a sudden: these are useful. He hopes he can get them back to the town. 

 

Up, and into the cupboards: there are splints, bandages, _four_ adrenaline pens, some oxygen masks - he looks at the oxygen cylinder, half his own height and weight and without wheels, then shrugs and packs the masks anyway. Sugar mix, more protein bars, a couple of old magazines. He's racing his own fear, now, snagging all he can before there's no choice but to bolt for the sunlight. Little longer. Little more. There's a drawer full of long strips of wrapped-up needles and syringes: the drawers go in whole, and, just in time, he remembers to add a sharps bin. Enough, now - time to go - he tries the main doors at the back, rattles at them, realises there's a bolt and gets them open, and there's the light coming in from the sky, he jumps out, he lands on solid asphalt, ready to sprint - 

 

That's when something grabs his ankle. 

 

*

 

Without thinking, Carlos shrieks. A moment later, and he cuts himself off, horrified at the noise. He kicks out at whatever-it-is: looks down, it's a crawler, _ugh_ , the face is a long way from him yet, and it's a simple matter for his to drop the axe-head into its skull. He shakes off the hand, and that's when he hears it. 

 

There's a shuffling coming towards him, from the other side of the van. 

 

The shuffling doesn't sound like - like, just one. And then, there's an absolutely unmistakeable moan. 

 

Carlos unfreezes, hefts his axe, grips his backpack, and runs. Weaving between the stopped cars, he glances back, and it's a whole group of them - they must have caught the stench of that one he'd thrown out of the van - they're shambling, bumping up against cars, they're slow. Carlos almost breathes out relief, and then he sees something else. 

 

One of them. One at the back is faster. It's blocked by the bodies, but give it a few more seconds, and that one - freshly dead, and some spark of intelligence, still - will be in chase. 

 

Carlos swears, loudly, and runs. 

 

He bursts out into the daylight at the same time as his headset comes alive once again, Cecil's voice blessedly clear - "when you're out, I'll just keep on in the - oh, you're out! There you are - oh, Dana, he's running, there must be something there - oh, no, it's a sprinter - run, Carlos!" 

 

Carlos zigzags between cars, wondering if he should stay on the asphalt or make the leap across to the dry grassland. There's a ditch at the side of the road, that might stop the thing - but the grass will also slow him down, and he'll be risking a broken ankle, and then he'll be finished for sure - 

 

Carlos stays on the road. He thinks the moaning's fading: the scattered vehicles are working in his favour. Onwards: he can run, he reminds himself. He can fight. He still has a gun, loaded, if all else - 

 

"That's great, Carlos, keep going! You're doing really well!", Cecil says. "You're leaving him behind: clever of you to stay on the road, they're far slower with obstacles - now, I don't want to worry you, but we think that one's noise has attracted a few more. I'll never understand how they can hear so well over these distances, they just coalesce together like nobody's business - it's okay, there are a few of them, but they're all just shambling. None as fast as our friend here: keep on going as you are, and you'll outrun them easily. I'll be right here." 

 

Carlos hasn't the breath to swear aloud. He takes a second to swing the backpack fully onto his shoulders, gazes out at the miles of scattered cars, and runs on. 

 

 

* 

 

 

Two miles of road. Two miles of scrubland. And the zombies don't give up. Carlos can't run the whole way, it's impossible - he runs, then walks, then runs, and eventually he turns, aims carefully, and puts a bullet through the brain of the sprinter after him. There's already a group on his tail, shuffling alongside him in the grass and on the road: they're making enough noise to attract more as it is. 

 

Breathing a little easier, he presses on. Stops to catch his breath for a moment at the end of the road, then jumps the ditch and runs on the scrub. 

 

"That's great, you're fine, you're okay, little bit more at that pace and you're home safe in no time", Cecil intones, repeating himself, chanting in his ear. Carlos no longer notices the words: he's simply grateful for the company. Less time thinking about the zoms behind him. More time focusing on Cecil's grounding voice and thinking about keeping his ankles intact. 

 

It occurs to Carlos that he could also climb up one of the trees and await help. He has an axe, and enough bullets for this small group, at least. He has options, if running fails. He runs on. 

 

It's an eternity before he sees the town; it's no time at all. He spots the radio tower first, as Cecil's still speaking - he's saying something about Lucy making Carlos a pie, any flavour he likes, just as long as he gets back safe - he sees the tower, and then the gates, and then there's gunfire all around him just as there was last week and he's cleared the gates, they're closing behind him. He's back. 

 

He doesn't collapse this time. He stands, both hands tight on his rucksack straps, and watches the gates lower. He stands there, breathing in the air, until the gates land with a thud, flush against the earth, and the gunfire stops, and he can see the zombies no more. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

"Nice way to wake up in the morning, right?", Steve Carlsberg says, unloading Carlos' rucksack onto the table. Carlos is sprawled in a chair, water in hand, enjoying being having several walls between himself and the zombs. "Let's have a look, then. Did Dana say something about a sprinter?" 

 

Carlos nods. "It was all fine while I got into the van - creepy, with the dead drivers, but they were long gone, nothing there to be concerned over - but when I jumped out, there was a crawler, and the noise from that one attracted a bunch more. You know how they're suddenly all there as soon as you see one? Only one sprinter, though - I ran, and then decided he'd rather have a bullet - the rest were just shamblers."

 

Steve whistles. "Well, you can consider yourself fully integrated into the Runners' Program now: not that you weren't before, of course. I think I heard a rumour about someone making you a pie: that the case? Either way: Eight suggested we open up one of the whisky bottles in storage, have ourselves a little get-together with some of the other Runners tonight. Sound good to you, right?"

 

Carlos nods, warmth brimming up inside him. Tamika had said insulin was needed, and Hannah would use the adrenaline pens - and, at yesterday's breakfast, Maureen had been bemoaning the lack of medical supplies in general. This, here: this was tangibly useful. He was helping people here. This was nothing like the abstract, thankless hours working in the lab on ideas that led nowhere - and Carlos starts to think, this might not be a bad place to stay after all. 

 

Steve's quiet monologue, sorting the supplies into piles, is interrupted by the door swinging open with a bang, and Cecil, Dana and Lucy spilling into the room in a flurry of noisy giggles.

 

"He made it back!" Cecil announces, grinning broadly. "Must have been because he had such a brilliant and dazzling radio operator - ah, we knew you'd make it, no-one else has ever improved that fast on the Program -"

 

"Nothing like a few zombs on your tail to really motivate you along, huh?" Dana smiles. "You know Lucy already, right? Works in the kitchens?"

 

Lucy parks beside him and clasps his hand in both of hers. "It's good to have you back here with us, sugar. You'd have heard already: it's my wife, Hannah, on build. I worry about her, and having the pens on hand, that means I can worry less. Thank you. Did Steve say we were talking about a party? Can I make you a little something? We've all sorts of pie fillings down in storage: chocolate, caramel, those tinned fruits y'all found last week - "

 

"Chocolate peanut butter?", Carlos asks, hopefully. "No trouble if that's not possible: any fruit would also be amazing - "

 

"Chocolate peanut butter it is", she says, smiling. "I'll get right on it. This one's got good taste", she says to Steve. "Only chocolate we've got left is the really dark stuff: it's gonna taste rich and bitter and beautiful. I'll be seeing you later on, honey, all right? Get some rest til then." 

 

* 

 

 

The Runners' Program is over twenty strong, and most of them are crammed into Steve's shack, passing whiskey around in a loose circle, sharing ever-louder and more outrageous stories of survival against all odds out in the wilderness. 

 

"... and that's when I realised the keys were still attached to the first zombie!", finishes up Larry Leroy, who lives out in the newer housing at the edge of town, with a guffaw. Carlos' head feels warm and fuzzy, and he's sinking deeper into the sofa he's sharing with Cecil, resting his head comfortably on Cecil's shoulder.

 

Dana and Cecil had come over a couple of hours earlier, just as their shift had finished, to say hello and have some pie. They'd brought along two bottles of strong carrot wine that Dana had brewed up several months previously, using excess supplies that would have otherwise expired. They'd ended up staying, supplying their own stories: Dana of making her way to Night Vale, walking alone though the desert expanses, avoiding crowds of zombies and humans alike; Cecil of watching the farm grow into a town, as more people arrived and pitched in.

 

"You'd have been doing the radio when they were all out there, right?", Carlos says quietly, turning his head to look at Cecil. "Did Steve really fight off ten zombs with just one crowbar and his old karate training?"

 

"Oh no, of course not", Cecil says, face impassive. "It was at least twenty. He's just being modest so the others don't feel bad."

 

Carlos' giggles shake him deeper down into the sofa, until Cecil can rest a cushion on his head and lean an elbow onto it. He flails a little as Cecil sprawls across the sofa, pinning him down, before Cecil lifts up the cushion to grin down at him. 

 

Carlos blinks upwards, smiling - the light behind Cecil is bright, and they really are very close now: he can see tiny gold flecks in the dark brown of Cecil's irises. He watches as Cecil's eyes flick to his mouth, and sees him lick is lips nervously before he reaches down to plant a quick, shy kiss onto Carlos' forehead. 

 

"Would you like to take this outside?" Cecil asks, all in a rush. 

 

"Oh. Er", Carlos says. No - this has to stop, he can't lead him on like this, it isn't fair - "Sorry", he says, "sorry, I, er, look - "

 

"It's okay! Of course it's okay, sorry that I - ", Cecil says quickly, leaning back and flapping his hands a little. "I didn't mean to push or anything, I thought - "

 

"No, it's me, sorry, I shouldn't have - "

 

"It's okay, it's okay", Cecil says, looking utterly awkward. "I, uh. I think I'd better give you some space? It's fine! It's really fine, and thanks for saying, I just think - I'll see you soon, okay?"

 

With that, he's gone, faster than Carlos can even register it: Carlos is left, alone, with the party. 

 

*

 

"Raise the gates!" Dana's voice comes through clear, and Carlos double-checks his shoelaces, grips his backpack straps, and gets ready to go. A few more moments, and - 

 

"That's great, off you go!" she says. "You're heading south-east first off: just by the left side of that bunch of tall cacti you can see a mile off. There's a couple of old barns and a toolshed we want you to give a quick look-over, Vithya - ahem, I mean, Eight - didn't have time to search them thoroughly last week before she had to come back for sunset." 

 

Carlos pounds along on the dry grass, trying not to worry too much about - 

 

"Listen, Carlos?", Dana says. "You don't have to talk, and if you want me to drop it, just raise your right hand anytime and I'll stop talking right away, okay? I just wanted to say: don't worry about Cecil. He's not upset or anything: he wanted you to know that he thinks you're brilliant, and that you feeling comfortable is his first priority. He's figured that me doing the radio for a few days would be best, but it's not cause he's upset. Okay? And, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, either - but if you do, I'll be able to hear you if you push the talk button, as far as that marker to your left there."

 

Carlos thinks for a moment, then reaches up. "Thanks, Dana. That's kind of you to say. You can tell him thanks, and, uh, sorry. And that from my end, we're good." 

 

"Sure", Dana says. "If I might ask - I mean, it's only 'cause I'm curious, you don't have to - "

 

"It's okay", Carlos says. "Cecil's great, he really is: it's just that, I'm not... I'm not ready. It wouldn't be fair. Before, uh, back at the base, there was... someone else. And I'm not ready yet." 

 

"Okay", Dana says, and, "So. Last time, when Eight went out there, she said there seemed to be something interesting up in the rafters above the loft. How do you feel about doing some climbing?" 

 

*

 

The next day, Carlos asks Dana, "what's the deal with Desert Bluffs? Everyone who mentions it goes all serious and doom-laden." 

 

Dana's quiet for a moment. Carlos listens to his feet, pounding, plots out his route around the canyon rocks to the supplies drop two miles out.

 

"We don't know what happened", she says, finally. "Folks who were here from the start, they said they used to get on with them just fine. Few differences in survival strategies, but all of us were working things out as we went along back then, trying out different things. Just, they were always a bit harsh for our tastes - no, they were very utilitarian. I know our Major is quite hard here, as well, but this was something else: they started tallying up everyone's productivity and kicking out the people who weren't contributing. That's how we got Hannah and Lucy, and some of the other builders as well: they left, because they knew it was only a matter of time before they were pushed out. I arrived here from out east not long after that." 

 

"Thanks for telling me", Carlos says. "That sounds... really difficult." 

 

"Yeah", Dana says, huffing out a little laugh. "It's hard on everyone, and, do you know, I can see where they're coming from? There are a lot of people saying we may well be looking at a bottleneck for humanity, here: that we're fragile, and only a few bites and collapsed fences away from extinction. Thing is, if deserting all your unproductive people or anyone else who doesn't live up to your particular criteria for survival - if that's the way humans are going, then, well. I don't know that that's a world I'd like to be living in. It's certainly not he kind of world I'd like to make for my brother to grow up in, or for my mother to be old in."

 

"Yeah", Carlos says. He's sure he wouldn't have trouble being useful wherever he'd landed, but he's glad, now, to have ended up in Night Vale. 

 

"Just up that ridge on your left, and then there's a smoother path alongside the canyon", Dana says. Carlos sees a mile marker up ahead, and reaches up to speak while he can. "Thanks. Talk to you later, yeah?"

 

"Yes, of course", she says. "Mind that gap on your right: Ruth says she saw snakes there the other day, and we're not quite desperate enough to be setting traps for them anytime soon." 

 

It's still early morning: plenty of shade, and not too much heat from the rising sun. Carlos takes a sip of water, scans the horizon, and jogs on. The CDC had flown through here yesterday evening, dropping boxes of supplies and goods. Steve had plotted out a course for the Runners that only went for the crates furthest from Desert Bluffs: no sense in unnecessary confrontation, he'd said. Carlos was heading towards a crate that had landed in the east, and later today, Ruth and Tamika would go south, and Larry Leroy south-east. 

 

"Difficult job, though, doing the resource allocation", Dana continues, conversationally. "Not a task I'd wish onto anyone. The Major's an old friend of Josie's, and was one of the first ones here: she's kept an eye on folks as the town's grown, and she knows more than anyone where the resources are and how things would work best. It's not perfect, but most folks know it's more trouble to complain or to try and change things, than to just get on with it and do their best. 

 

"I know Cecil says it's all kittens and roses: he's really fond of this community, I think he grew up in a small town, and he gets on so well with everyone. Don't tell him I said this, it's just, it would be okay if he were a little more critical - no, realistic - sometimes. Folks listen to him, I'm sure that half our population has done a shift on the Runners Program at one point or another - and he's only ever supportive of what the Major and the Council decide, even though the Council hasn't even been changed since we began. I know he only wants what's best for the town, but sometimes, their decisions can be a little tough. I guess he's just trying to be supportive - oh, there you are: should be about fifty metres ahead of you, to the left." 

 

It'd be hard to miss the packages: they're spilling out of a bright yellow crate emblazoned on all sides with the CDC logo. Carlos packs the parcels away into his backpack, and then, sure there's no danger nearby, takes a few minutes to set the crate upside-down as a small makeshift shelter. Could be someone comes by who needs it. He ties up a couple of protein bars to dangle from the roof, sketches a map pointing towards Night Vale on the inside with Sharpie, then stands up, stretching. 

 

"That's great: right on home! There's breakfast waiting, and hot tea in the radio tower if you'd like", Dana says, and he smiles, and runs on. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

It's still only just dawn when Carlos lopes back through the main gates. The whole world feels as though it's just Dana and himself and the one snoozing sentry on top of the defence tower, ready to be roused by the radio in case of problems. Carlos has always been an early riser: he'd decided he'd prefer to sort the mission out early, and make it to the kitchens in time to help with lunch preparations. 

 

It's quiet, and peaceful: almost as though there'd been no apocalypse, save for the heavy pack he's carrying, loaded with tinned food and extra ammunition. Dana comes down to the gates to let him in herself, all the better to not awaken the guard. It's only because he swings by the radio shack to change his shirt, and comes back around through the sunny side of the new playground, that he even spots it. 

 

There's someone there. Someone unfamiliar - and, ordinarily, Carlos would leave the stranger to it, knows full well that sometimes all that people need is some space and alone time, and that's in short enough supply in a place like Night Vale and at a time like this - it's just that, there's this sound. 

 

It's the very faintest of noises coming in on the breeze. It's this rattle - and, as the sound makes some lizard-brain part of Carlos freeze, he realises the figure is moving strangely, as though... as though it has one broken foot already. Carlos is already attuned to this: the certainty hits him like an axe-handle dropping into his chest, an abrupt and devastating thump - there's a zombie in the compound. 

 

Where did he leave his gun? It's in his pack, and his axe, too - he casts around, trying not to panic, not to think about how many destroyed communities began like this, with one lone human spotting something strange early in the morning: before they got into the housing; before the screaming began. 

 

There's no-one else around. Most people sleep in groups: they'd have raised the alarm. There! There's a shovel leaning against the toolshed by the barn. Carlos grabs it and, trying not to think too much about what he's doing, vaults the playground fence and runs towards the thing. 

 

He shouts as he runs - "hey!" and "watch it!", meaningless loud noises that he hopes it'd respond to, were it still human, just in case - 

 

The thing turns towards him and it's fresh, still - looks around with wide, hungry eyes, and - oh - that answers the question of whether it's still human - something's already torn away at almost half of the face. Self-inflicted, most likely, studies have shown fresh zombs will often chew at whatever they can find - it turns to Carlos and lets out a snarl, and then he's on it, swinging the shovel in a wide arc and clocking it smartly with the flat end. It goes down instantly - god, it was a kid, can't have been more than fifteen, just finished a growth spurt - Carlos slams downwards into its head with the sharp blade of the shovel, then turns away and immediately vomits. 

 

He's still there, head between his knees and breathing heavily, trying not to look at the horrific mess beside him, when Dana finds him a few minutes later. 

 

*

 

She registers what had happened immediately, and runs to him. "Oh, Carlos, come here - no, don't look, come on, let's get you out of here, I'll get Steve to come and sort out the mess, he's got a stronger stomach than most of us - "

 

Carlos lets himself be led: to the bathrooms to change and scrub up with soap and bleach, and then sat down outside the kitchens with a cup of hot coffee. He shakes himself, a little: everyone's had to do this, just because he was kept sheltered in some lab for months is no reason to think he should do the dirty work any less - "has that ever happened before?", he asks. "Here, I mean? I... heard about Pine Cliff, and the others." 

 

Dana shakes her head. "The Major will want to know. She came back in by chopper late last night - you'd have slept right through it, right? Of course you would. It's a talent." She's trying to talk normally, and he smiles weakly, sips his coffee. "I think I recognised him", she continues. "Steve brought him and his mother in yesterday afternoon - found them wandering out towards the south, couldn't just leave them. He didn't even look sick, is the thing..." 

 

She tails off, and Carlos tries to imagine having to tell the kid's mother, and hopes he won't be asked to. Maybe there's a policy for situations like this, where the person who has to pull the trigger doesn't have to do it. That would be a good policy. He twists his fingers together around the coffee cup: first one way, then another. 

 

"Are you okay on your own for a minute? I'm going to go and wake the Major. Do you want me to get anyone else for you? Cecil's on the way, or maybe Tamika as well?"

 

"I'm okay", Carlos says, straightening his back with some effort. "Thanks. It's fine." 

 

*

 

"We've always run here with a little more trust than you might find in other settlements", the Major says, face grim, to the assembled group. It turned out that the kid hadn't bitten his mother: he must have realised he was turning in the night, and tried to get out of the housing. It was only luck that he'd made it out, and been found before the town had grown busier. The kid's mother is sat on the ground now, distraught, and Carlos isn't sure she's entirely absorbing what's being said. Steve's already taken the body out: there's a ditch outside one of the walls for this exact purpose, lined with rocks and grasses to make for an easy fire. 

 

"We know of other towns who don't take in newcomers at all", the Major says. "Or who make everyone go through quarantine before they so much as speak to a citizen. Others still have folks searched, check them all over for marks, and take their supplies away. Now, we'd like to think we've a little more compassion than that: we're not going to be strip-searching folks when they've just gone through goodness-knows-what to get here. We trust folks to not come into towns in they think they've been bit, you understand?" She's raised her voice, now. The woman's looking at the ground: there's no indication she's listening. 

 

"I don't even know what was going through your head there", continues the Major, gesticulating now. "Thought you were special? That he wouldn't turn? Thought you could look in our medical tent and find some kind of miracle? I don't even think you're comprehending the seriousness of this situation: are you listening? You've jeopardised the safety of every single person in this here town. I've no choice but to ask you to leave. You've taken our trust, and thrown it away." 

 

There's a loose semicircle of townsfolks around the woman and the Major: folks on their way to reporting to the runners' shack, or the kitchens. Carlos looks around at Dana, Steve, Carlos, Tamika: their faces are closed and furious, and he understands - of course he understands. If he hadn't seen the kid: if he'd walked the other way, or come back just a few minutes later, they could all be infected by now. 

 

The woman - Carlos had never caught her name - is crying now, silent. She still doesn't speak: she just unloads her pockets onto the ground (a few energy bars, a box of matches) and takes off her jacket and shoes. She walks out, making for the canyon, still saying nothing, and doesn't look back. Carlos sees the Major is shaking, now, and for all his dismay at seeing someone cast out, Carlos realises he is relieved, as well. 

 

* 

 

Carlos spends four hours peeling potatoes: precise, methodical, and focused. Could easily be he's never even seen a zombie or had to live in a hammock in some corrugated iron shack. Could he he's just on a break from mapping out some distant galaxy: he'll be back at work tomorrow. 

 

His partner had always wanted kids. They'd always put it off, too busy with work, too many new discoveries awaiting them - Carlos is glad, now, that they had never found time. 

 

Lucy gives him space: only sets down hot tea beside him every so often, then goes to carry on with her cooking on the other side of the kitchen. He's still glad of her presence: quiet, and solid, both of them keeping busy. 

 

Eventually, just before lunch, Cecil comes to sit down opposite him, carrying a box of apples. 

 

"Mind if I join you? I'll swap you a few."

 

Carlos looks up, surprised out of his thoughts, and automatically smiles back up at him. "Hey. Yeah: sure." 

 

Cecil sits, and starts carefully slicing apples and piling up the pieces in several trays, ready for baking. They work in companionable silence for some time, until Cecil says, lightly, "I never knew what happened to my family. I was away, working in a different city. I tried to find them, for a while - came home to find the house looted and the power off, but, you know, no blood. There was this one battery-powered bulb flickering upstairs, so I turned it off, and then I just walked. Found a few others, walked and walked until we came here. 

 

"Now, I wouldn't imagine I can know anything of how you're feeling right now - though, it sounds as though you haven't been out in the open recently very much? I wanted to say: you're going to be okay. And, don't worry: this isn't something you'll ever get used to. It'll still be difficult, however many times you do it: it'll hurt and you'll feel awful and it'll remind you of how fragile we all are, here. You won't get used to it. You'll stay soft, and squishy, and human. Everyone always does: even the ones who pretend otherwise." 

 

Carlos looks up. "Thanks. That's... really good to know. I'm sorry, I never knew about your family - "

 

"It's okay", Cecil says. "Well, it's not okay, but thank you. I never did see them shambling around anywhere with the others from the neighbourhood: you never know, could well be they're still out there somewhere. I put something out on the online message boards every so often: nothing yet, but there you are." 

 

Carlos isn't quite sure what to say, so he shakes down the bucket of potato peelings and starts on more. 

 

"Dana said you've been doing really well out there", Cecil goes on. "It's been wonderful to see her improving: did you know that she guided Steve and Ruth out of a nest of zombs by the nearby park yesterday? She's been great, and so calm on the radio, whatever's going on... " 

 

"Yeah, she's been brilliant", Carlos says. "Listen, what did she tell you... ? Um, I wanted to say, it's, uh, it's nice to have her doing the radio, and it's nice to have you there too. I wouldn't mind if you both mixed it up a bit: at least, if you're comfortable! I'm sorry about before, and it's not cause I don't think you're great, cause, er, I do, it's just, there was someone else. Before. And I can't: not yet, but I'd still really like to... be friends. If you'd like." 

 

Cecil beams at him. "I would like. Thank you for saying so: that's so kind, and conscientious. I'd love to be friends. I hope that you've been feeling at home, here? I think that lots of people would like it if you stayed." 

 

"It's been good, thanks. Yeah: everyone's been really kind. Lucy's even tolerated me coming in here and trying to help out - I think she's got plenty of folks wanting to help, but I, uh - well, I always did the cooking at home, and for big groups of friends as well. I think she realised it's something that feels homely." 

 

"I think she did. What did you like to make?" 

 

"Oh, all kinds", Carlos says, smiling. "Big, communal things, most of all: so, we'd have friends from the lab over, after everyone had been working all hours the whole week long. During the week, if we were working late, we'd order in pizza, but we made it a rule that we'd do real food every Friday. My - my partner, then, we lived right above the lab with just about enough space for everyone to fit in, onto the sofa and table, cushions on the floor. He was always better at socialising: he'd host, work the room, make everyone welcome, and I'd get on with it in the kitchen. I had these big stews or stir-fries, vegetable pasta bakes, curries... ", he grins, drawing up the memories. "Hard enough to get vitamins into a bunch of scientists at the best of times, not to mention what we're like when on deadline. You'd think we'd all know better, but when you're working, you just get caught up in it: I'm sure you can understand." 

 

"Course", Cecil smiles. "Have to say, it's more often these days that I'm all caught up in work. I did a bit of radio, before: only student stations, and then a few local bits and pieces. None of it was ever as important as it is now. It feels like this, doing the operating: it's community radio in a very real sense, because we're the ones helping to keep our little town going. The Runners, most of all, of course: with us guiding you out there, and, oh, people have said wonderful things about Lucy and Hannah's show, as well. As though it feels like things are normal again, to hear music and conversation over the radio." 

 

"It's nice to be useful, isn't it?", Carlos says. "I know what you mean." 

 

"Speaking of: I'm on shift shortly", Cecil says, reaching for a small bowl and sweeping sliced apple into it. "You'll have to excuse me. I think I'll take these to Dana and send her for a nap, after all the excitement this morning."

 

That's... something else Carlos had been wondering about. "Mind if I walk you over there? I'm about done here, and a nap sounds like a good idea." 

 

"Of course", Cecil says, beaming broadly once again. "Anything you like." 

 

Outside, the midday sun is beating down onto a mostly quiet town: everyone is taking shelter indoors, working on mending or building projects or looking through local maps and survival strategies. Dana will be winding down on the morning's supplies runs, writing up and filing notes: Cecil will soon be planning out the late afternoon's exploration, in time for later runs. There's a balance to be struck between giving the runners time to explore, and ensuring they're back in time for sundown: most of the longer, unfamiliar routes are run in the early mornings. 

 

"The other evening, I met Maureen at the gates", Carlos says as they walk past the bunkhouse outside which the townsfolk had gathered that morning, watching the Major. "She'd run on a little far: said she'd thought she could see something further down in the canyon. The thing is, she came back exhausted and totally panicked: seemed to think that if she didn't make it back before sundown, she'd get locked outside, all night. I know that's the guideline all the Runners get told, but they wouldn't actually do that, would they? I mean, don't you think it's a little... much?" 

 

Cecil doesn't answer, so Carlos, nervous, rambles on. "And, what happened this morning. Look, I know it was irresponsible of that woman, but... you don't think there wasn't anything else we could have done? She was definitely going to die out there. You could see she knew it. I know that the people here try to do better than in other places, and I can't imagine how much things have changed elsewhere, I mean, I've heard rumours... but, look: wasn't that even something we could have talked about? So, I know the Major and the Council have always been in charge, as the town's grown, and no-one's really questioned that. Is that right? I don't mean to be disrespectful, but, I just wondered, if there was maybe a realistic way to have a conversation about it?" 

 

Cecil is very quiet for some time: so much so, that they've almost reached the radio tower before he answers. 

 

"The Major and the Council helped establish this community long before most of us were even here. They know what works best here. There's plenty of others who have tried other ways." Carlos can see that Cecil's speaking almost by rote: it's a line he's spoken lots before. "We're not perfect, here, but we have to do what's best for the community. And, the people here are friendly: this isn't something in which we want to be interfering. I know you mean well, Carlos, and thank you for your concern, but, we trust the Major. And the Council. We're a community who aren't just surviving, but working well together. I'd thank you to not question that again." 

 

With that, Cecil disappears into the radio tower without even a goodbye, leaving Carlos blinking alone in the sun. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

Carlos' backpack is heavy with food and ammunition. He's about to swing himself down from the barn ceiling, and head on home before the sun sets, when he hears it. 

 

There's a... shuffling, but it's not a zomb-like shuffling. It's more random, and there's someone who seems to be... sniffling? One - no, two - two people, on the other side of the barn wall, and, as he comes closer, he sees they're figures buried under several layers of sackcloth. 

 

"Hello?", he says. "Hey - you okay?", and the cloth shifts, a little, to show a face. 

 

They're not kids, but they're small and slight enough to be such, now. They're a young man and woman: dark hair, drawn faces, with the same build, the same wary looks in their eyes. Carlos can understand: there's plenty besides the zombs to be afraid of, out here in the wilderness. 

 

"Hey. You all right?", he says. "Look: it's okay. I'm from a town just down in the next valley: we've gates, and lots of people, and, and food. We can go there: can you make it?" 

 

The girl speaks up. "Hey. Thanks - yeah. We can work, we can... I'm Abby. This is Seb." 

 

"Carlos. Come on: my operator's already telling me that we'll have to hurry back to beat the sunset: can you walk? We'll go together." 

 

There isn't a camera for another half a mile, and Cecil's been speaking anxiously to him for most of the time that he's been searching the barn: one-sided conversation peppered with random pieces of advice or anxious reassurances. They hadn't spoken again about the Council or the Mayor's policies, and Carlos is happy to let it go for now. It's a comfort to hear Cecil's voice again, and to be on good terms. 

 

He wonders what Cecil will say to his picking up strays. Well, he's sure Cecil'll be friendly enough: it's whether he brings in the Major again, to have them justify why they'll be worthwhile citizens, that has him concerned.

 

"Do try and hurry back, dear Carlos: I can't yet see you on my monitors, and you haven't all the time in the world. I can send out someone to meet you if you need company - just wave at the camera on the three-mile mark, easy. I'll see you very soon, all right? Runner Eight - you know, young Vithya - she's been putting together some new storytelling games to try out on the rest of us this evening. Did you know that she and Dana have had dinner together every day this week? I do hope it works out with them, they've been skirting around it for so long..." 

 

Carlos is listening to Cecil's quiet monologue, and has almost forgotten the two strangers walking behind him, when he hears Abby's shriek. 

 

He turns, and it's Seb: he's latched on to her arm, worrying at it as she kicks out at him - heart dropping through his stomach, Carlos makes to run to her immediately, and, a moment later, stops himself. This is standard enough to feature in a zombie movie: it's always this impulsive compassion, the people who run in headlong and try to help, who end up simply helping spread the infection. 

 

There's nothing he can do. Abby gets one foot onto the chest of the thing that was Seb, and manages to kick him away: he's barely noticed the blow, and as she scrambles backwards, Carlos steps forward and buries his axe through its skull. 

 

"Don't look", he says, and she looks up at Carlos instead, breathing hard, shaking. He can't help himself: he looks over at her bite, all messy and raw where the thing had torn away some of the flesh, and she covers her face and starts to cry. 

 

It's against protocol. It's a reckless, stupid thing to do, it's the kind of thing that gets people killed, and he's so far from home, he should go, he should go quickly - Carlos crouches down, squeezes Abby's shoulders, and she collapses, sobbing, against his chest. 

 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I knew it had happened - we ran into a crawler on the way in, I stamped on it but not before it got his ankle. I'm so sorry, I don't know what we were thinking, saying we'd come along with you, I didn't know what else to do and I couldn't just leave him there, it's Seb, he was Seb - "

 

She's incoherent, hysterical, and Carlos knows it's naive to be so forgiving, but he understands entirely. He hugs her and shushes her quietly, and thinks, oh, Dana was right: it may be reckless to stay, but it'd be inhuman to leave. 

 

"What would you like to do?", he asks her, gently, when her shaking's quietened down. A fresh, deep bite will have left her with only a few minutes before turning, if that. She looks apprehensively at the axe lying on the ground, and swallows. 

 

"Have you got a gun?", he asks, and she shakes her head slowly. Carlos considers: he has one, and... it'd be noisy, it's dangerous, and it's another protocol broken. On the other hand, he has to sprint back in any case at this rate, and they hadn't spotted any zombs in the area over the last three days. 

 

"I do", he says. "Do you want me to... ?" 

 

"Yeah, I think... I think that's the best thing, don't you?", Abby says. She's collected herself, she's calm, even as each deep breath brings forth a faint rattling sound. "I don't know how it's best to - uh - "

 

"No, I don't know, either", Carlos says awkwardly. "Look, are you sure? Like, now? Right now?" 

 

"Yeah-" and she's broken off by sudden coughing: it comes dry and hoarse. "Yeah. If you, you go here, and don't look, and thank you - I know it'll be hard for you, after, after - "

 

Carlos draws out the gun with shaking hands and stands behind her. He doesn't know how this goes.

 

"Don't look at me", he says. "Um... look up at the sky, instead, for me. It's okay. It's all going to be okay." 

 

"Thank you", she murmurs, "thank you, thank-"

 

He squeezes the gun with both hands, and the bang is deafening. Carlos steps away sideways from the mess, trying not to look. He methodically clicks the safety back on, stashes the gun, stands still to listen closely for far-off moans. 

 

There's nothing. Carlos doesn't look. It's time to go: he walks from the bodies, then breaks into a run, and, finally alone, lets himself quietly cry as he goes. 

 

* 

 

Carlos turns up the headset's volume as he runs, to find Cecil there, still simply saying hello intermittently, seemingly out of thoughtful conversation for the time being. As Carlos runs up to the three-mile camera, he waves shortly. 

 

"Oh! There you are - are you all right? All okay, no problems? I can send someone out to meet you, as long as in the next ten minutes is fine...?"

 

Carlos makes the hand gestures to convey that he's fine, and he'll be quick, and as an afterthought, adds a quick _thanks_. He goes on. 

 

Such a close call. The both of them had been doomed from the start, most likely - he can hardly blame Abby for her denial, even as he shudders to think what would have happened had they reached the town. 

 

It occurs to Carlos that Abby and Seb had been doomed whether or not they'd followed protocol, or done things responsibly. Isolating the case, terminating the vector cleanly: it only made his own life, and the lives of the townsfolk back home, less risky. He can't be angry with the kid for hiding what had happened - hope's a funny thing, doubly so in a zombie apocalypse. Abby, though: she'd likely saved his life. 

 

Around him, it's getting dark fast: Carlos can barely see the dirt trail. Two miles, now: he slows down, concentrating hard, watching his feet. The gunshot hadn't attracted any zombs, but he's not quite willing to risk a flashlight when he can just about still see. 

 

The town's lights stop below the wall, and are used sparingly, in any case. He can see a faint white glow, but his main marker is the blink of the comms tower. Out here, the stars are dazzling. He'd never seen them like this back at Mullins. _thump, thump, thump_ go his feet, intermittent and careful now over the rocks. 

 

One more mile, and Carlos reaches up to his headset to speak. "Hey. Just one mile to go: be there soon. Sorry, ran in to a bit of - "

 

\- and that's when his right ankle lets out a devastating crack, and he tumbles sideways into a ditch. 

 

* 

 

Carlos shrieks, just once, more in surprise than anything else, and then clamps his teeth down onto his fist, breathes hard through his nose as his ankle screams and screams. It's like a fire alarm: high and persistent, every part of his body wanting to roll on the ground or shriek back in response. 

 

It's broken. It must be. It's broken and _oh, hell_ , it's dark and he's out and he'll die out here for sure - 

 

Chanting a steady stream of curse words under his breath, scouring his memories for the very worst, the most inventive, anything that can express the pain and frustration without drawing attention, Carlos tries to think rationally for long enough to scan the landscape and work out his options. 

 

There's a ditch. He knows that because he's sideways in the thing, and the landscape's full of more treacherous holes and worse and _ohfuckohfuckohfuck_ \- there's a ditch. There's a landscape full of holes. He looks around: there are various patches of scrub, a gnarled tree, a few tall cacti. There's the town, aglow in the distance, the radio tower blinking steadily, the stars and a sharp crescent moon hanging behind. 

 

Dimly, Carlos notices that Cecil is speaking in his ear. 

 

"Lost you there for a minute - Carlos? Carlos, are you there, are you all right?"

 

Carlos can't trust himself just yet to not scream as soon as he opens his mouth. He switches on the transmitter, and taps on the mike a few times. 

 

"Oh! That's you! You're okay?"

 

He taps once for _yes_ , and then, after a pause, changes that to two taps for _no_. Takes in a few deep breaths, and manages to grind out, "Fine. But. Ankle. Can't - run."

 

"Oh. Oh, ohhhh - um, okay, Carlos, okay, look, you're going to be just fine, okay? It's only just past curfew, I'll send out someone right away - " and Carlos can hear the faint sound of Cecil throwing switches on his soundboard, transmitting "runners report: three, seven, nine. Repeat: report immediately, I know you're still on duty, report immediately", and a few moments later, there's the distinctive click of the radio shack's door opening. 

 

"Mr Palmer", comes the voice of the Major. It's loud, and Carlos, realisation hitting him like a brick to the head, suddenly grabs for the volume control and looks around wildly at the landscape - it looks clear, but it's dark, he can't see far and _fuck, fuck_ \- almost misses what she's saying, if it weren't for Cecil's voice rising in pitch and volume immediately afterwards. 

 

"What do you mean, we can't send someone out? It's a mile, there's still some light. They'd just need to go out there with a stick and they can both make it back, they'd still be in time for dinner, what do you even mean - "

 

"Palmer. I'm sorry. I truly am, but rules are rules. We can't afford to lose another runner right now: not with the delegation still out south, and what with what happened last week - "

 

"- you can't, you can't, you know as well as I do that he's one of the best we have out there - "

 

"I'm sorry. Look. It's not the longest time. You've still got cameras out there: you can direct him to higher ground, and tell him if there's anything coming. You can send someone out as soon as it gets light. Palmer, look at me: that's all we can do. Do yourself a favour: there's no sense railing against the rules, they were decided by the Council months back. It's the best way. Now, get your runner to higher ground, and do it soon: it's not only zombs out there, remember?" 

 

Cecil sounds as though he's barely holding back his fury. "Runners three, seven, nine? ... Never mind." There's a click. "Fine. Um, Carlos? I don't know if you caught that little exchange, but it sounds as though you might need to be out there for ... a little while longer. I'm sorry. I'm stay here - we're going to keep an eye out, together. I'll do the best I can to watch out for anything, and let's see if we can't get you to a barn or a tree or something. You still with me?"

 

Carlos, who has by now managed to stretch out his leg, nods, and then, after a pause, thinks to reach up and speak. "Yeah. Still here. I heard. Thanks." 

 

"Silly question, I know, but: can you walk?", Cecil asks. "Or, if you have a look around: is there something you can lean on? I think I saw where you went down, there should be a tree just off to the west, if I'm right - yeah? Okay. Okay. You'll be fine. No rush, you're okay, it's just - you're going to want to go over there at some point and see if you can hole up in one of the higher branches. Nothing's around you yet, knock on wood, but if any zombs do come looking, you'll be glad to be high up. Just... try not to make too much noise as you go?" 

 

Carlos braces his hands against the rock and pushes himself up slowly, towards standing. "Not much noise. Climb a tree. Sure. Easy." He looks up and over the side of the ditch: yes, there's the tree, Night Vale still glowing faintly behind, under the bright moon. Holding the rock with both hands for balance, and trying not to move his foot too suddenly, he casts about for something to lean on. There's... rocks, and dust, and - there, there's a broken-off tree branch. 

 

It's rubbish as sticks go: no more than two feet in length, but it's all he has. Carlos hops a couple of times, trying to ignore the jarring pain in his ankle, and managed to hop-flop-roll on out to the lip of the ditch. He lies there, breathing heavily, ears straining for any sounds on the night air. 

 

There's nothing just yet. Wincing at how loud his own breaths sound in his ears, Carlos grabs for the branch and slowly works out some kind of hobble, bent over double. He's still wearing his heavy rucksack. His back aches and his ankle thumps in pain with every step. The tree is fifty metres away, and it takes him all of a lifetime to cross the scrubland and get there. 

 

Cecil, bless him, is still murmuring intermittent encouragements into his ear. It's partly terrifying, to have noise at all out there, and mostly reassuring. He isn't alone here. 

 

It's a lifetime. It's no time at all. It would have taken twenty seconds at a fast pace out here, loping easily along the ground as he had been for weeks on end before, _stupid, stupid_ \- it takes some amount of time, and finally, he's there, leaning against the trunk for support, catching his breath, sizing up the branches. It's a twisted little desert thing: the topmost branches should hold him above the grasping hands of any taller zombs. If they come. When they come. But, they don't climb: not trees, not ladders, nothing more complicated than stairs. At one settlement in the south, a horde had battered at the walls for days, eventually growing enough in numbers that a few were able to crawl up and over the bodies of their fellows and reach the top of the wall and then - 

 

But, he's not going to think about that now. Carlos drops his stick and plants both hands on the branch behind him, boosting himself up with his arms. As an afterthought, he shucks the backpack and lifts it up, fingertips straining, until the strap catches on a higher-up hook. Now he has his hands free to get his good foot under him, brace both hands, on the trunk, and stand. 

 

Again, now. He steels himself, huffs a breath, and pulls on the next branch up: he can't get there to sit on it, he has to kick up to hook in his good leg, then pull himself up... there's a terrifying lurch as he almost swings upside-down, and then he's up, his backpack within reach. 

 

Carlos shuffles carefully, until he can lean against the trunk and swing his good leg over to straddle it. Now he can get his breath back, and scope out the surroundings: a hillock overlooking the town, scrublands stretching out for ever, the light blinking on top of the comms tower. 

 

It's going to be a long night.

 

 

*

 

"So, what's the story with Dana?", Carlos asks. His watch reads 12.40 - another six hours or so until dawn. He yawns. 

 

"Oh, Dana? She didn't say?"

 

"Well, she did a little: but at first, she mostly stuck to the mission notes. Kept double-checking, wanted to make sure everything was right", Carlos says. "Started chatting a little more later on, but that was just before you came back on the radio - and she was mostly telling me stories about other people. You know: Hannah, Lucy, that odd Larry Leroy dude... gossip, mostly. Wonder where she got the idea of gossiping with her Runners from?"

 

Cecil giggles softly on the other end of the line. "Well: I wouldn't want to disappoint, given your high hopes over my scandalous reputation. Dana... Dana, well, she. Okay. I adore her, and I'm amazed, all the time, at her. How she's still kind and warm, and she's always looking to reassure the runners, and anyone else they find, too. She made Nine put her on to some survivors she'd met out at the canyon this one time, cause she knew Maureen wasn't so hot on the whole, reassuring-people thing. Talked them right through watching their partner die and putting them down, and then she said goodbye, and talked Maureen right through putting them down, too. Got her back in one piece, too, met her and took her straight to the kitchens - I could swear she keeps notes on what all the runners need, whether it's hugs or chocolate or just some space.

 

"The thing is, she doesn't know where her family are. Did she tell you that? She walked here, all the way from the coast, all on her own. Came home from work one day to find them gone: lots of zombs in the neighbourhood, but lots of survivors got out, too, went off to the camps in all directions. She never was close to her neighbours, so she upped and walked. Still puts out messages on the web every week or so." 

 

"Same as you", Carlos says. 

 

"Yeah, same as me. We put them out together, these days, invite the lot of them to come and join us here."

 

They both sit quietly. Carlos thinks of how Dana had always asked after him, making sure he was fine after runs, with her initial protective prickliness softening into this feeling of her holding him fierce and tight along with the rest of the community. He was theirs. 

 

"What about you?", Cecil says. "Back at the base. Did you like it? Was it okay, or do you like the work more now? It's okay to say both!" 

 

"No, I know", Carlos says, thoughtful. "I, uh, yeah. It's okay here. It was good there. I mean, good people, and staying alive's the best you can hope for in an apocalypse, right?" He laughs quietly. "I don't know which I'd choose. They both work. Uh, so. What about Steve Carlsberg then, huh? What's his story?" 

 

"Well!", Cecil says. "Steve Carlsberg. Let me tell you... " and he's off on a chronicle of every time that he and Steve had bumped up against each other, every time Steve had wanted extra runners out for longer, or had asked for more headsets faster, “as though we could just magically make the generators charge them faster, _Steve_ “. The one time that Steve had burst into the studio to grab the mike and speak directly to a runner without asking, and Dana's unconscionable and entirely irrational tolerance for the man. Carlos leans back against the tree, smiling a little, and lets the words wash over him as he gazes out at the sky. 

 

*

 

"Thanks for staying up. It's good to have company. I'd say it's okay, and that I don't mind if you go to bed, but the truth is that this is still terrifying, however much it's also deathly boring. I need all the help I can get not to panic, out here." 

 

He says it light and flippant, but Cecil doesn't laugh. He just says, "it's okay", and "of course", before launching into another story from his backpacking days around Europe. 

 

* 

 

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... R." 

 

"It's rocks again. Is it rocks again? It is, isn't it?"

 

"Okay. Something beginning with Z." 

 

"Zombs. It had better not be zombs. We couldn't get the resources out there to deal with a horde, not if they come at night. Um. Zomb-proof walls. Zomb-evading tree. Zomb-killing sharp stick. Zombie war. Zomb apocalypse. Zomb brains." 

 

"Okay, okay: that'll do. You go." 

 

"Um. Something beginning with... S." 

 

"You did your soundboard already. That's the only thing you're looking at there, right?" 

 

"Well, it's not as though there's anything interesting on the monitors, is there? Better not be, anyway, we could do without interesting things tonight." 

 

"Not that you'd know, what with how you're fixated on your soundboard and everything." 

 

"You've got me there. Mm. All these cables and humming electrodes, all that power..." 

 

*

 

"Bigger than a hamster, but smaller than a whale. All kinds of colours. Let's see. Is it alive?"

 

"Yeah. Well. Um. Kinda. No - actually, no."

 

"... Well. Does it, by any chance, shuffle?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Humanoid in shape? Creepy kind of moaning noise?"

 

Carlos grins at the end of the line. "Yeah, sure." 

 

"Well, gosh, Carlos, I can't even imagine what that could be. It's not as though I've ever left this little booth and seen the rest of the world at all..."

 

"Okay, okay." He's giggling, now. "You go." 

 

* 

 

It's coming up towards four in the morning, and the night's still silent and still. Carlos is quietly watching the stars moving, tracking the faster path of a satellite. Is anyone still using those, and watching them? Did anyone get stuck out on the space station, their own operators devoured before they could have brought them safely home? 

 

"Still there?", Cecil says. He's quiet, too, now. 

 

"Still here. Not going anywhere", Carlos replies. He's awake, but his head's fuzzy and his throat's dry. There'll be a hot breakfast waiting for him at home: Cecil had promised it. Just a few hours more. 

 

"... I can't stop thinking about the Major", Cecil says, slowly. "I... know it's protocol. I know it's the only way we can keep more people safe. But - um, look, Carlos, we're friends, right? Yeah? - but, she was ready to just let you die out there. Whether there'd been a zomb on you, or whether that ankle made you bleed out - whatever had happened, she'd have left you there. We're... meant to be a community. We should at least be trying to keep everyone safe. It, um, happened once before: new arrival, she'd just come in and, on her first run, the snipers couldn't get at the zombs in time. But you: you've done so much for the town, all the hours you've put in, everything you've found out there..."

 

"Shhh. It's okay. We're nearly there. It'll be okay", Carlos says on the other end, trying to shake off the image of a runner being overwhelmed by zombs right at the gates. 

 

*

 

"There was someone else", Carlos says. "I told you that, right? We did dinners for the scientists, got proper food into them when on deadline. Silly, ridiculous, unexpected thing, but - he, he, he died. Not too long after the outbreak happened. It wasn't from the infection, thank goodness - it was an accident, an explosion in one of the labs. We were so frantic about looking for a cure, some of us got careless. It... was only chance that I was standing behind this big heavy bench, and he was on the way to the other end of the lab, carrying an armful of beakers - "

 

"Hey. Hey - oh, Carlos, I'm so sorry, you don't have to - "

 

"No, it's fine - if it's okay? Have to talk about it sometime - just, it was all so fast, you know? One day, he just wasn't there. And our bunk was there and all his clothes were still there and they, just, stayed there. While mine got worn and washed and sterilised and returned and packed away and worn again, and his just stayed there. Stayed still. And I was just thinking about how, it's like that for him, too, yeah? He's frozen, too: he's still that person I woke up with that day and we had breakfast and walked over to the lab. And, for the longest time, I wanted to freeze like that too. Kept on going to the lab, plugging away at the same projects, not touching his stuff - not even the dust - 'cause if I did something different, it'd be like going further away from him, you know? And I tried so hard to stay like that, in that kind of stasis. Worked in the lab even when I could hardly see the meters, made our poor colleagues deal with me collapsing into tears, several times a day, for the longest time. 

 

"I mean: the work. All the work was useless. We haven't found anything that could help us with the virus. No antidote, no vaccine, not even something that can slow it. But me: I was the most useless. Couldn't even wash up the coffee mugs. So... when a bunch of them said we should up and find somewhere more useful to be - oh, sure, it made sense, but it was terrifying too. 'Cause, all of this, the running and the new people, who know me but never knew him - it's like I'm taking these steps further away from him. This, now: this isn't the person he knew. Who he was with. I don't even know if we'd have gotten on. I hope so. But it's harder to remember, now, 'cause I'm different, too. I can't go back, but I'm going forward so fast that it's scary. It's good to be of use, for sure - oh, it's good to feel like a functional human again, like someone made of skin and hands and pumping blood and nerve endings and oxygen, instead of some, some, some kind of still life. It's just, sometimes, it's still hard to let go." 

 

Cecil is quiet for the longest time - waiting to let him continue, Carlos guesses, or simply thoughtful - he tracks another satellite, picks out the few constellations he knows, and finally, Cecil murmurs, "I'm sorry." 

 

"Thank you", Carlos says. 

 

"That's... really big stuff. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Can... is there anything we can do? To help? How are you finding it here - is it any better, now? Is the difference helpful, at least?"

 

"Eh", Carlos says, tired and bored of being polite, now. "It's okay. It was better before you all decided it'd be most beneficial for your friendly little community to lock me out of the place right after I had to shoot someone through the head." 

 

"Oh", Cecil says, and he's quiet again. "... Yeah. Sorry. I know. It's... uh, yeah." He, too, sounds too impatient for diplomacy, now, and Carlos knows his feelings about the town well enough by now. He's been careful enough about it, skirting around the subject for days now. 

 

"No, you're right", Cecil says, quite suddenly. Something catches in his voice, and then Carlos hears a couple of thumps, and Cecil's muffled voice from the other end of the booth. He can't make it out - and then Cecil's back, voice brittle. "Look. Do you want some music? Your battery's only going to last about another hour or so, so, might as well. Yeah?" - he doesn't give Carlos a chance to answer before he's plugged in some kind of 90s pop-punk compilation album, and with that, Carlos is left alone with his thoughts. 

 

* 

 

He's been static for the longest time, but here, there's a new life to be had. Here, he can be useful in a field he never thought he could excel in. Who would have thought that, after all else failed in the field he'd known for years, he might find some kind of satisfaction in collecting medical supplies, extra food, and sports bras? 

 

*

 

The zombie apocalypse had thrown together a whole lot of unlikely bedfellows. Carlos had barely been able to move in the first few weeks at Mullins as colleagues from all levels navigated new relationships and experiences they'd previously only dreamt about. It wasn't unusual to see four of five people stumbling giddy away from a party, or hear about broken beds and stolen lab equipment. He'd held a little tighter to Andrei in those early weeks, careful to not turn down chances at intimacy, imagining every night to be their last. It was an exhausting way to live, in the end - always poised for the collapse of their home - eventually, routine won out, and most of the base, Carlos included, was happier for it. 

 

The apocalypse was no reason to push himself or other people into experiences or relationships they didn't want to partake in. That said: the ever-present reminder that a messy death waited around the corner, breathing heavily, arms outstretched - well, that could help hurry up certain decisions. Carlos wonders if it might, possibly, be time to give this a chance. 

 

* 

 

 

Dawn comes and goes as Carlos is dozing, on-off and with his earphone still connected to the dead headset. He registers the gathering light as though it's an afterthought. He realises he can no longer see the stars, and that they have been replaced by visible trees, and rocks, and dust and dust and dust all the way to the horizon... and no zombs. 

 

Cecil had said there'd be a hot breakfast. Carlos think that he remembers his saying he'd be sending out a couple of runners to meet him, maybe with hot coffee - had he imagined the coffee? wishful thinking, perhaps - there's no-one in sight, and the gates remain closed. No runners out for supply runs, either: he had been the earliest riser in the camp, though Dana had said that Vithya had liked to run pre-dawn, loved the alone-time to think - and, oh, there's movement. 

 

It's not the gates. He can just about see a tiny door opening to the side of the main gates, and he watches, willing his eyes to adjust: it's a figure. Only the one, shorter than most of the runners, with a bright purple beanie keeping off the pre-dawn chill. 

 

It's Cecil. He's alone, and he's carrying a crutch and two backpacks. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

"They would have let you die", Cecil says, his face closed and furious. "They would have left you out here. If there was a horde - if there was even one zomb, and you didn't have the bullets, if it'd have been the easiest thing in the world to come and get you, and even if someone had volunteered for it... they would have let you die. After all you're done. After everything you've put in." 

 

Cecil pauses, shaking a little. Carlos, holding on to two tree branches, just looks at him. 

 

"Curse that town", Cecil says. "Curse me. Curse it all. I'm sorry, Carlos - I should have come out myself right away. I should have saved that old Runner Twelve, as well. Come on. We're going." 

 

He gestures up at Carlos with the crutches, and Carlos doesn't wonder, not yet, about the practicalities. It's Cecil, here: Cecil, who loves his town and stands beside it unconditionally, Cecil, ready to turn around and walk into the unknown with him. Carlos thinks of Abby: telling him not to look after he'd bashed out her lover's brains, calm and rational to the end and almost relieved, really, when she realised that she'd be going at the same time. All of this: it goes too fast, Carlos thinks. 

 

When Cecil helps him down, a hand on his waist and the other hand holding the crutch ready, Carlos doesn't hesitate. He leans in, and kisses him: full and open-mouthed, fast enough that their teeth click. 

 

Cecil doesn't pull away: he becomes very still, and his eyes become very wide. 

 

Carlos, concerned for a moment, pulls back, flicks his gaze between Cecil's eyes, left-right-left, asks, "yes? Uh, is this okay?"

 

Cecil doesn't blink: he simply nods, rapidly. The tips of his ears have gone very pink. Carlos decides that he finds this endearing, and leans in again. 

 

* 

 

When they disentangle themselves some time later, Cecil says, "there's a bunker, a couple of miles to the south. We keep it stocked for emergencies. We could go there, if you want? Just, while we work out what to do. I don't mind - but, anywhere but, but there." He indicates the town with a wave of the hand that's not around Carlos' waist. "I don't want anything more to do with that place. That's... okay, right?" 

 

"Right?", Carlos echoes, a little dazed. A bunker means privacy, means he can rest his ankle and get some sleep, and, and... later, have enough energy, maybe, to register the feeling of Cecil wrapped up in his arms and, oh, the way that Cecil's thigh had felt pressed up between his legs, just so. There's already a white fuzz gathering at the edges of his vision, and Carlos knows he'll need to be horizontal soon. They can work out the specifics later. For now: "Right. That... sounds wonderful", says Carlos, and leans on Cecil as they start walking. 

 

*

 

"The Major said this'd be kept stocked with the basics", Cecil says, fiddling with the latch and swinging the door open. Inside, it's cool and dark: a mattress, shelves with tins, a few blankets. Cecil feels around for something by the door, and - "ah!" - produces a small lantern, before helping Carlos get settled on the mattress.

 

"What now?" Carlos asks, bleary. 

 

"Now? Well, first, you are going to get some sleep. No matter what else we get up to in here," - he's matter-of-fact now, and Carlos' belly tightens a little - "you're getting some shut-eye. I can keep watch. After that: well, look, do you want to talk about it? I know I've just kind of made the decision for us both - I mean, if you think you'd like to stay in the town, to try and make it work, we can talk about it? It's just... between the curfews and the rationing and leaving you outside and, oh, just the military cold-heartedness of it all... I'm done. I think. Maybe we can still get a message through to Dana. I don't know." 

 

Carlos leans in to peck Cecil on the forehead. "We'll talk about it. It'll be okay. Thank you, for coming out." He's not long for this world, he knows, as a yawn threatens to overtake him entirely. "There must be lots of other options, right? You're in touch with other settlements? Can't get to Mullins, must have helicoptered at least an hour out of there, but there's - yeah, okay, not Desert Bluffs either - you mentioned Pine Cliff? Would they take on a radio operator and a runner with a broken ankle?" 

 

Cecil is quiet as he moves around tins and water bottles, and pulls out a sleeping bag and some pills for Carlos. "We can give it a go", he says. "Tomorrow. For now, here: take these." 

 

Carlos swallows the anti-inflammatories with a long gulp of water, and leans back onto the bed.

 

* 

 

He comes awake to raised voices, the lantern throwing sharp shadows across the walls. Must be dark outside: how long had he slept? 

 

"I say we go in there and fight", says one voice - it's familiar - is that - Tamika? Carlos raises his head and instantly regrets it: someone's splinted up his ankle, but it still thumps hard in pain at the movement. Closing his eyes, he fumbles for the water bottle and takes a long drink. The figures around the lantern don't appear to have noticed him. 

 

"I have to say that I'm unsure about this", another voice - Dana? she's here as well? - says, slow and thoughtful. "It's not only us, Cecil. Several other people heard that Carlos had been locked out - or, rather, that the Council had locked out Carlos - and they were all asking me at dinner whether he would be all right. Lucy and Hannah were just talking about the curfew on the air a couple of weeks back, after some of the runners were shaken when they only just made it back. The Major shut them down right away: Lucy said she'd threatened to take them off the air altogether if they didn't stick to music and survival advice from then on." 

 

"Can we take her? And the Council?", Tamika says, forceful. "Can we get the town to rise up and take over? We can't have our people exposed to that kind of danger any more - there's no way we're going to last more than a few more months if we're all going to be punishing each other for coming back late, or for getting the wrong supplies, or whatever other little things. They're the only runners we've got: we need to look after them", she says, and Carlos feels a rush of gratitude: sometimes it felt as though no-one else acknowledged the danger of the Runners' work. 

 

"You're exactly right", Cecil says. "There's no-one there looking out for the Runners: only Dana and myself even watching the zombs for them, and we're spread thin enough as it is, between keeping an eye on four missions at once, sometimes. Then there's the Major hanging over our shoulders, telling them to bypass shops and food drops for whatever piece of mysterious intel's been abandoned in some hospital that week. I'm done - enough with the intrigue. I'm sorry: I love my community, I really do, but leaving people out there - leaving Carlos out there - it's not forgivable. I can't." 

 

"Cecil. We understand", Dana says, gently. "No-one loves this community more than you. I know it. I often wonder whether Lucy and Hannah should get you onto their show more often, what with the stories you tell the runners, and the way you guide them back, still hopeful, every time. It's just that I'm not sure this needs to be an all-or-nothing decision. Think about the radio: remember? There wasn't anything there, so Lucy suggested we create something. I don't know about you, but to me, loving your community doesn't mean accepting everything without question. I think it means taking responsibility for changing things for the better. Even when it's difficult, or scary, or you think you're the only person there who cares." 

 

Carlos speaks up. "Cecil. I haven't been here all that long, but... I think I'm with Dana, here. There's so much good in town: so many kind people, and it's safe, safer at least than being out here with the zombs, and I suppose that's as safe as we can hope for these days in any case, right? It just seems a shame to throw away knowing all those people. Isn't there anything we can do?" 

 

Cecil looks up. "Do you want to go back?" 

 

Carlos thinks for a moment. "I... I was useful, there. There was something satisfying about being able to help people out, in this practical kind of way. I feel like I've only just started to get to know people: Dana, it was wonderful to hear your thoughts and your stories back when you were my operator, and Tamika, I... really, really hope that your library grows and gets more use soon. I'm still watching out for the third Harry Potter book, you know. Cecil, they're right, and also, I don't want to go. If there's any way to help things out back there..." and he tails off, unsure. He's brand-new in town, and Cecil and Dana are the radio operators, mostly speaking to the runners. What can they do?

 

"We'll work something out", Tamika says, watching Carlos' expression. "Don't you even worry about it." 

 

*

 

They walk back to Night Vale in the dawning light, Carlos hopping, resting heavily on both Cecil and Dana. Tamika walks out in front with a long shovel, keeping a look-out in all directions. 

 

"They'll listen to you", Carlos says, breathless. "Both of you. Half the town has been in the Runners' Program at some point or another, right? They know you as people to be listened to. Voices that guide them away from danger and towards home." 

 

Cecil breaks out in a broad smile. "That's very kind of you to say, and I think it should be Dana, mostly, to speak. Dana, you're the one who put in all the hours at the hospital, and did the extra work setting up Lucy and Hannah to broadcast, and you're the one who has made the most effort to get to know people, and help them out. Dana, I'd follow you any time. It's been a privilege to work with you. You're going to be a brilliant operator."

 

Dana doesn't say anything: Carlos sees she's frowning, still thoughtful. "Thank you. I'm not sure what to do. I think, I'll talk to them. We should all talk to them. We need to make some space for the conversation to open up, at the very least: and we mustn't only speak. We must listen. For so long, we've expected that the Major's right and - and as for everyone else, we're unfamiliar with this world, and we're so very afraid. We have to tell people it's all right to be heard again. That none of us really know what we're doing, that we're now in this strange and dangerous world, but that we're here together, and that everyone can help work out the best way to live here." 

 

In the distance, the light on the radio tower blinks, blinks, blinks, warning off long-grounded airplanes, and guiding them towards home. 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

"Around the east side", Tamika says, eyes still flicking, ever-watchful, in all directions. "There's a way to get up over the wall: not for zombs, or for you, Mr. Scientist, but one of us can climb up and let the others in." 

 

"I'll go", Dana says right away. "You need Tamika to keep an eye out, and Carlos still needs to lean on you, Cecil. Just: if it's all right, would you watch out while I go over?"

 

As she's appraising the handholds that have been roughly knocked into the wall at intervals, Carlos notices that Dana has gone a little green: she must be afraid of heights. Well: there have been plenty of fears they've all faced in the name of survival, recently. "You'll be okay", he says, quietly. "Thanks for this." 

 

She glances back and flashes him a quick smile, and then climbs, Tamika occasionally directing her foot to the holds. 

 

"Come on", Tamika says as Dana disappears over the top of the wall. "Out the front."

 

They hop-hobble around to the main gates, where Dana already has the smaller door open and is looking around for them. The guards in the tower snooze on. 

 

Hannah Gutierrez is standing behind Dana, looking murderous: as soon as he comes through the door, she wraps Carlos up into a tight hug. 

 

"Thought we might not see you again", she says. "Come on: Lucy's already opening up the studio for us." 

 

She's there when they arrive, sitting inside the shack and holding a runner's headset. There are wooden boards stacked against the wall, and a chair from the dining hall squeezed in beside the desk. 

 

"Oh, sweethearts: is it good to see y'all", she says. "Here, now: Hannah and I thought y'all should best barricade yourselves inside. We'll hold on to the headset: if one of you could stay tuned to the Runners' frequency, we can let you know what's up out here. Just: do whatever is it y'all gotta do. We'll be here." 

 

Dana steps forward and clasps both of Lucy's hands in her own. "Thank you. We'll do our best."

 

The four of them squeeze into the booth, and Carlos catches a last glimpse at Hannah, her own boards in hand, ready to barricade them up inside. No way out now: he sits down, and waits to be useful.

 

Dana and Cecil are flicking switches on the soundboard, talking quickly in hushed tones. Finally, Dana takes a seat, and puts on the headphones. 

 

"It'll be all right", he says impulsively, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, and Cecil smiles at him from her other side. Dana takes a deep breath, and pushes a button. 

 

"This is a test of the emergency broadcast system", she says, clear and steady, into the microphone on the desk. 

 

"Hello, Night Vale", Dana says, and Cecil, listening in to the runner's headset - a twin to the one that Lucy had been holding - gives her a thumbs-up. "This is not an emergency broadcast. There are no monsters at our door this morning, nor is there a breach in our walls. We are here to speak with all of you, as uninterrupted and as widely as we possibly can, about our community. 

 

"I'm sitting here with Carlos, our newest Runner Five: who, as many of you know, was locked outside all of yesterday night by the Council's established protocol, and the Major's specific decree. This was after Carlos had run eight miles on a supply run, and had to put down two people who had very recently become infected. He spent hours outside, alone and in pain, because the Major had decided it was too much of a risk to allow Runners out after curfew to help him come home. 

 

"I'm also here with Tamika Flynn, one of our youngest in the Runners' Program. She does triple shifts to help cover hours for her family, who aren't able to take part in the Program. She trains up new Runners, and guides them on their early runs, and I've never once heard her criticise the Council's policies. She is thirteen. 

 

"Outside, Lucy and Hannah Gutierrez are helping ensure that we can continue to broadcast to you all. Do you remember the day they arrived, Night Vale? I do. I remember the Major's skepticism about Lucy being able to, as she said, "pull her weight" in this town, and I remember Hannah promising to do double shifts for her, and then threatening to leave along with her. How many of you enjoyed Lucy's cooking last night? Or have blankets that were made by her and the children?" 

 

Cecil has stepped back to give Dana space, now. He's listening closely to the headset, brows furrowed, but squeezes Dana's shoulder steadily regardless. 

 

"Night Vale: we need another way. Perhaps the Council's insistence that everyone pulled their weight equally is what helped us find our feet early on. I can't deny that it may well have been an essential part of our survival. But: now that we are becoming more settled as a community? Now that we are growing in number, and farming, and even raising children? We need more compassion, Night Vale. Everyone here can contribute something different - and even if they cannot contribute, they are still important. Every one of us: we have always been important. 

 

If we are to survive, we must work together. As a community. We must trust each other, and look after each other: otherwise, we will have lost our own humanity just as surely as the shamblers outside have lost theirs." 

 

Dana leans back, and takes a breath. "Lucy and Hannah are still outside", Cecil reports, still listening close. "There's a crowd around them: it's worked, everyone heard. Lucy brought a portable radio to keep playing the broadcast to the yard. The Major - she's here, she's outside, but the crowd's surrounded the station. We - she says, we need to keep going. Dana, can you carry on?" 

 

"Well, this isn't only about me, Cecil", Dana says, sliding off the headphones. "Here. It's time for you to speak to the town." 

 

She takes the runner's headset, and Cecil takes the chair, and swallows hard, thinking. Squares his shoulders, and puts on the headphones. 

 

"Night Vale. I... I am not a good salesman. I am not here to... to sell you on the idea of change, nor of revolution, nor of standing still and waiting on our own stagnant rules to twist us in and in our ourselves until our little town implodes. No: I, can only - report. And today, I would like to talk to you about the Runners. 

 

"Many of you have spent some time with us in the Runners' Program. Some of you have spent a great deal of time running for our supplies, guided by myself and by Dana. Night Vale: today, I would like to apologise to you. I have sent you, too many times, into dangerous areas. I have asked you to skip over food supplies so that the Major can collect documents and other intelligence instead. I have gone along, for months now, with the rigid rules on the curfew and optional running distances, without questioning how useful these actually are: not only for the good of this town, but the safety of the Runners that have allowed this town to flourish. 

 

"And, Night Vale: Runners have died. They have died because I followed the Major's rules without question. They have been caught by the undead, they have become lost, and, last night, our own dear Carlos was almost lost among them. Night Vale, I do not know if you can ever forgive me. I am not going to ask for your forgiveness right now. 

 

"This community amazes me, every day, with the amount of kindness that you all show to one another. And, if you'll allow me, I'd very much like to spend the next few years trying to undo some of the damage I have done. Thank you." 

 

He removes the headphones, and sits back. 

 

"The Major's disappeared", Dana says, "Lucy says the townsfolk seem mostly positive. A few of them think that she's in the farmhouse, and have started storming the door. It... it's starting to sound as though most people will support change. We just need to be careful, now." 

 

Tamika takes the microphone. "Night Vale! I know that you are angry, and disappointed. I know that there is a great deal that must change, and that you are ready to change right away. I only ask you to remember, Night Vale, that it is not only today that we will create change. We must fight: not only today, against the Council that set up this town, but we must fight every day, to build our community, to maintain it as a community, and not simply a collection of buildings: one in which we can all contribute what we are able. 

 

"Remember where the true fight here is, Night Vale, and rise up! A place where we can all make a sustainable and kind future is not one that is created easily. Know, now, that we will work hard right here beside you. There is so much we have to do. The time has passed for us to merely be trying to survive: we have a library to build. We have a new generation to raise. We cannot afford to spend another day judging others' contributions, or finding each other lacking." 

 

Above them, Carlos can hear the thumping of a helicopter growing closer. 

 

Dana says, "Major Winchell has appeared on the roof of the farmhouse. Someone is saying she's been able to ring the CDC from her satellite phone. She is there with Trish Hidge, and it appears that they're choosing to leave the town, instead of staying as we try to affect change. Well: we can only wish them all the very best, and hope that they can wish us the same." 

 

Cecil nods. "Carlos: you're up. It's only fair that each of us can speak." Carlos nods, and Cecil passes him the microphone, before sitting on the edge of the desk and giving him a thumbs-up. "It's fine. Just talk to me", he whispers, and so, Carlos does. 

 

"Um. Hello, Night Vale. I feel a little strange speaking to you all, because I still feel as though I am a relative newcomer here. I think it is much more important to listen to Dana, and Tamika, and Cecil. But they have spoken, and now invited me to speak, and so, what I'd like to tell you is... thank you. For a very long time, I did not feel as though I would ever find somewhere that felt like home. Somewhere, where I was useful. I felt as though nothing I could do was helpful, and there were so, so many things that needed doing, in this strange and unusual new world of ours. And that felt terrible: it was one of the very worst feelings of all.

 

"I was a scientist. For a long time, we worked hard: looking for a cure, a vaccine, a treatment - anything at all. We used up so many resources, and created nothing at all in return, but here, for the first time since all this began, I've started to feel useful. As though I'm part of something bigger. It's strange, because I've always felt as though it is science that is the greatest thing that brings us together: we're building up knowledge, over generations, over centuries... well. In any case. We're now living in a brand-new world, and it's one that science hasn't eve  been able to explain just yet.

 

"In the meantime, I can't even tell you how good it has felt to be a Runner here. To grow to knowing many of you, and to be useful in such an immediate and tangible way. It has reminded me that, in many ways, we cannot afford to put things off any longer. We need to build the world we'd like here, right now, because this is all we have", and here, he smiles up at Cecil, and Cecil blushes and smiles back. 

 

"Night Vale: you have given me a home, and a community, and a purpose, and I am so very grateful for that", Carlos says. "It would be my honour to join you in building the sort of community that we all decide would create a kinder future for us."

 

"The Major's gone", Dana says. "She left in the helicopter. I think it really is just us, now. We should open the doors." 

 

"We'll do it", Carlos says. "Here: you should speak."

 

"Night Vale", Dana says into the microphone. "It is just us, now. I don't know where we are going from here. There's a great deal about which I am unsure, and sometimes I'm afraid, to consider how much work we must do, together. But: we are now able to decide, together. Thank you all, so very much, for listening." 

 

And with that, Dana stands up and walks out into the morning, with Tamika, Cecil, and Carlos following behind. 

 

* 

 

Carlos is going over some plans for a new generator with Tamika, when Cecil pokes his head into the Runners' shack. It's been three days since a town-wide meeting had almost-unanimously agreed that they'd prefer Dana as, if not quite a leader, then certainly a co-ordinator in the rebuilding of the town. 

 

"No more military-style rules or language", Dana had said. "I know that the Army was instrumental in holding back the undead and establishing the townships early on, but we're not so precarious, now. We can afford something softer." 

 

Cecil is grinning, and as he comes in, Carlos sees that he is holding a stack of books: not only the third Harry Potter, but the rest of the series as well. Tamika's face breaks out into a broad smile. 

 

"Vithya found these out at the old hospital: she looked through the children's ward, and found that the Desert Bluffs runners may have stripped out the medical supplies, but they left the non-essentials. She... may have headed directly to Dana's office on coming back. So I said I'd bring these here." 

 

"These are brilliant! Did you know that Steve and Ruth have been reading them out loud, and doing voices for all of the characters?", Tamika says. "I'll take these over to the hospital library for now: tell Vithya thanks later for me, yeah?"

 

"Sure", Cecil says, and she vanishes out the door, books in hand.

 

"Hey", Carlos says. "All good at the station?"

 

"Hm? Oh, since Dana moved off into the office? It's okay, thank you: Tamika and Vithya are both taking shifts as operators, now. We've found that Runners can really be better placed to work out the routes." 

 

"That's great", Carlos says. "It'll be interesting to see how their mission outlines vary, as well: I'm sure that between us, we can find the best routes. So... did you say that Dana had moved into the office, now?"

 

"Oh! Yes - that's right", Cecil says, going pink. "She's sleeping out back there, and - don't tell anyone, but I've seen Vithya coming out from there early in the mornings, as well. So... the radio shack's got an extra space, now. Um, I thought that it wouldn't be too practical for you to stay in the hospital or our in the hallway for ever, and especially with your foot, or now that you've decided you'll stay, I..."

 

Carlos grins. "I'd love to. We could push the beds together, and we'd have some more space. If you'd like." 

 

"Yes!", Cecil bursts out. "Yes please! Yes, I would like. Okay! I'll see you back there tonight, then - er, yes. See you there!" He ducks out of the office, still blushing to the roots of his hair. 

 

"See you there!", Carlos calls out after him, and, grinning, turns back to his notes. 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to everyone who has read and kudos'd and left such kind and thoughtful comments: they really do mean the world. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Title is from an early, feelingsy Zombies Run episode. I started writing this when I began playing Zombies, Run - so there won't be Zombies Run spoilers: I'm just borrowing the premise. Thanks for reading!


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